Fondness
by KathleenK
Summary: This is the story of how Clarisse became wife to King Rupert and Queen of Genovia.
1. Folders

This is a story about how Clarisse and Rupert wound up becoming the King and Queen of Genovia. (In a lot of ways I think Clarisse's story is more interesting than Mia's, frankly) This is my first fan-fic, so please feel free to weigh in and tell me what you think. Hope you enjoy!

1

"Clarisse Eleanor Mignionette", Rupert muttered out loud as he put his reading glasses back on his face and read the name atop yet another dark purple file-folder.

Folders had become his way of life for the last four days. Purple folders. Folders the color of royalty. Over 300 purple royal folders to be precise, each one of them containing the vital statistics of a woman who was hoping (or whose family was hoping) to become his fair bride. Or, more to the point, hoping to become the country's fair Queen. Being married to such a charmer as he was just a bonus, Rupert chuckled to himself.

Barring cupid's arrow finding it's mark and Rupert genuinely falling in love with someone (an appropriate someone, of course), he'd always known that at some point he was going to have to choose a spouse, from a very specific and appropriate pool of candidates, of course. He also knew that his father Henri – the present (and-eager-to-retire) King –and his mother, Katherine – the current (and tense-about-the-King's-impending-retirement) Queen expected to have a say as to whom he chose.

Still, it wasn't until this past Monday when he actually saw the folders piled at the head of the table in this dining room that had become his new home that it struck him how literal the phrase "choose a spouse" was. The artless, dispassionate way in which he was to go about fulfilling this royal responsibility made him feel … well, ludicrous really. He was literally plucking a human being out of a pile of papers and vowing to spend the rest of his life with her. Based on what he read in a folder. A dark purple royal folder.

As he had ploughed through the heap, pulling out "possibles" for a smaller pile, returning some "possibles" to the larger pile when a more possible "possible" presented herself, he reminded himself to be grateful that his parents hadn't included him in the preliminary stages of this merry-go-round (or should he say "Marry-go-round"). Their collaboration started out promising with the King and Queen agreeing to the parameters straight away. They would choose only from the six neighboring counties to start, they would only consider women who were between 18 and 23 and only those young ladies who were titled or came from politically or economically influential families would make the list.

All was harmony…until the first purple folder was opened. From that moment on, chaos reigned in the house of Renaldi. The King and Queen crossed swords over everything from educational backgrounds, to how much weight they should give the lack of horsemanship on a resume, degenerating all the way to a knock-down-drag-out of a row concerning the hip measurements of one poor unfortunate girl vis-à-vis providing an heir. Rupert could only stare at the closed dining room doors in bafflement after overhearing that discussion.

It was a six-month long bare-knuckle brawl, but between the two of them, the King and Queen had narrowed the field from literally thousands to the now legendary 300. They felt, at that point, it was safe to allow Rupert to join the festivities and help select his bride. His mission - to pore over the more-than-manageable (their Majesties' words) pile and select 15 to 20 young women he felt were most suitable.

It all sounded so simple in those heady days before he entered the dining room. He had begun to notice, however that The Women of the Folders, all charming in their own unique way he had no doubt, had nonetheless started to blend in his mind into one formidable yet, at the same time, bland woman. They'd all gone to the same right schools, participated in the same right activities, had the same right friends, and if he was not mistaken, all went to the same right hairdresser.

There was a fatal flaw in this process – there were, after all, only so many women on the planet, let alone in tiny Genovia, who were fit, not to mention willing to live as a queen. That meant that with very few exceptions – those exceptions representing his 'like to meet' pile – he had spent the last four days wading through the equivalent of 300 shades of beige.

So here he sat, absently staring at the folder in his hand, that of one Clarisse Eleanor Mignionette. At his mother's urging, his practice was to read the CV first, study the family tree, next the letters of reference, the list of awards and or commendations, then any news archive information that the public relations department might have included. Then – and only then – if still interested, should he feel free to peruse the photo.

Resisting the urge to discard this particular young lady's file based solely on her middle name and the ominous potential of having to include it in any name given to a daughter, he read the CV. He absorbed her stats – she was 19, raised in Pyrus, the daughter of the Deputy Minister of Agriculture. He made a note on the file to find a picture of the Deputy Minister, not quite sure if he'd met him. Trudging on through her highly appropriate CV, he noted that she, yes, had, from birth, gone to the right schools. He paused when he read that her studies focused on History and Political Science, with a minor in Education. That was different. Most of the others in the pile had focused their studies on Art History or European Literature and the like– important and laudable areas of study, of course, but definitely what Rupert, considered, fairly or unfairly, 'soft subjects'.

The family tree was impressive and letters of reference were exemplary, coming from the ever-loving 'right' people. Being just 19 her list of awards and commendations came predominately from her schooling, but they portended well. School government, debate and public speaking were well represented in her accomplishments as well as a number of articles she had written regarding a myriad of issues, some of which had been published not only in her academic paper, but in the Genovian Times as well.

He gave a muffled 'humph'– an impressive young lady and not necessarily in the usual 'she'll give a great tour of the artwork in the main hall' kind of way. Not that that wasn't important, but it seemed she brought something a bit different to the table than the other candidates. Or, at the very least, she framed her CV to highlight what Rupert, again, would refer to as her 'hard' accomplishments. A bold move, he thought, not going the traditional 'good hostess' route.

He sifted for the photo and regarded the face in the picture. Now that he saw her, he thought she rather 'looked' like her file, in a manner of speaking. Her file didn't have the overtly 'decorative' quality to it that most of the others did – her list of accomplishments didn't mention extensive knowledge of table settings and there were more of her published articles included than pictures of her in ball gowns worn at various public events. Her picture lacked that same overtly ornamental quality. She was a very pretty girl, certainly, but not in a particularly traffic stopping way. Some might say she was a bit plain (his mother leaped to mind), but he would say subtle. She was blond, with direct blue eyes and, at least in the picture, a calm smile. He turned back to her CV to confirm her age. She seemed more composed than a typical 19 year-old, at least in the picture. Her smile didn't even show her teeth.

"Well", he said to himself, "I'm intrigued." As he tossed her file in with the rest of the 'liked to meets' he thought she was certainly the least glamorous of the crew, but if nothing else, he would get the chance to thank her for breaking up the monotony, if only for a moment.

Resignedly reaching for the next folder, he soldiered on.


	2. The Royal Review of the Field

2

The King and Queen were eating dinner in companionable silence, enjoying the peace and quiet of a leisurely meal, something that their busy lives so seldom offered. The King, however, knew it was just a matter of time before the spell would be broken. Every night after the coffee was served the wait-staff made their exits to the kitchen and he knew, like he knew the sun would rise in the east tomorrow morning, that his wife would take advantage of that particular moment to speak. And, unless he missed his mark, her topic of choice would be that which dominated not only the palace but the entire country: Just who, in the name of all that is holy in this world, would Prince Rupert marry? Ever since Rupert had stumbled bleary eyed and a bit daffy from the dining room, list of 18 young ladies in hand, the King knew his wife would waste no time formulating her critique of his choices.

Henri knew Katherine had planted a few of her favorites among the 300 and seemed quite confident that Rupert would include all of them in his final tally. Henri tried to warn her, gently of course, that Rupert was, for one thing, a grown man who would make his own choice, and for another, that their eldest son had always been a complicated man, which made him very difficult to predict. Henri had a few ideas of his own as to who would make the best candidate for their future queen, but he knew Rupert well enough to know that all Henri could do was offer his son his opinion and let it go at that. Katherine, on the other hand…

With the timing of a French farce, the door between the dining room and kitchen only had time to swing closed once after the last of the staff left the dining room when Katherine spoke. Or exploded, depending on where you were sitting.

"Have you seen that list?" she whispered fiercely, leaning across the table.

"I did, yes. A few surprises from what I saw."

She made a noise that translated to "That's the biggest understatement ever uttered."

Henri smiled slightly and girded himself for the onslaught. He knew this was coming and he knew that Katherine needed to vent her spleen about it. After 33 years of marriage, and with the added bonus of being a trained diplomat, Henri had learned that part of his role as husband was to provide his wife with a safe environment in which to completely come undone. Ultimately, she would get it out of her system with Henri before taking a much more reasoned and calm approach with Rupert.

At the moment, however, she was fit to be tied. "Good lord, Henri! The mind reels at some of his choices – both the inclusions and exclusions. I mean, Serena Kimbrough will not be contacted to come meet with him but Amelie Kent – Amelie Kent – a less appropriate choice I can't think of – will be simpering around here wasting a precious hour of his life. I only threw her name in the pile so I could tell her great-aunt that she had been considered, for heaven's sake. What's worse, I count _at least_ four girls who I know, I just _know,_ he included because of their pictures. I begged him to look at the pictures last. Oh, Lord, this couldn't be more of a disaster if he'd thrown the files on the floor and picked up 18 of them at random." She leaned back dramatically in her chair, apparently out of breath.

Henri took a deep breath, broke out the emotional broom and dustpan and began to sweep up the pieces of his poor wife. "Now, Katherine, this isn't a 'disaster'".

When she made moves to vehemently protest, he raised his hand and said quickly, "I admit, some of his choices leave me scratching my head, but all the women we presented to him, Amelie Kent included, were appropriate candidates to be queen, in their own way. Granted, some were stronger contenders than others, at least on paper, but Katherine, he's not just choosing a suitable queen. He's choosing a wife."

He paused a moment to see if she wanted to argue that point, but at the moment she seemed just to be listening. He went on at a more sedate pace. "That is something that only he can do – it's as personal a decision as he's ever likely to make and we can't just hand him a list of qualifications for the job of wife and tell him to find a woman in the pile that meets them. Neither can we say who would make an appropriate wife for him better than he can. He'll make that decision from within – whether it comes from his gut or his heart or his brain, that's for him to decide. He owes it to himself to find a woman he can not only rule with, but have a life with. That's what we decided, was it not?"

The queen let herself be told things she already knew, preferring how it all sounded coming from Henri more than how it sounded in her own head. Things never seemed as tragic when Henri laid them out for her as they did when she looked at them on her own. Still and all, she didn't like to be reminded that it was they themselves who had put this decision in Rupert's hands.

She thought back to the time when she and Henri had been married only a few years, Rupert still in diapers. There had been a scandal in a neighboring principality concerning the royal couple in power there. The Empress had committed suicide in a particularly gruesome fashion. In the unrelenting public and private investigation that followed it was revealed that the Emperor and Empress had a severely unhealthy relationship. He had incalculable mistresses and had fathered two children by a former lady's maid at the palace and was apparently physically abusive to his wife. The Empress had spent years in a drunken haze, twice trying to kill herself with pills before finally succeeding with a knife. In the end the Emperor stepped down amid a flurry of self-serving excuses and vague allusions to his wife's inability to fulfill her wifely duties and her fractured mental state making her impossible to tolerate.

What sent a chill down Katherine's spine more than anything about this sordid mess was when the Emperor said publicly that he would never have married such a 'pitiful creature' but for the fact that their parents arranged their marriage when he was a mere child.

That struck particularly close to home for both Henri and Katherine, two people whose marriage was arranged by their parents when they were mere children. Never before had they realized just how risky it was to impose a marriage on two people; especially arranging such a situation when two people are children; it was nothing more than Russian roulette. It had been done for centuries without such a dramatically catastrophic aftermath, but when the wrong two people are brought together and forced to live as man and wife, a toxic situation can develop ending in devastating consequences, clearly.

Henri and Katherine counted themselves lucky that they genuinely liked each other from the beginning and came to love one another relatively quickly. They weren't living out an epic romance, but they were of like minds about many things, from the running of the country to how they liked their eggs (their head butting over the 'great bride search' notwithstanding). In the beginning they did need some time to learn each other's quirks and they had to work at their marriage to this day, but they had made a good match. No bullet in the chamber for them.

When they heard of the brutal finish to the Emperor and Empress's arranged marriage, Henri and Katherine knew that they did not want the same thing for their young son. When he was born, parents of little girls all over the country made their case for Henri and Katherine for an arrangement, and the King and Queen quickly put an end to all of it. They would let Rupert decide for himself who he would marry. They dearly hoped that he would meet an appropriate young lady, fall in love, propose, get married, assume the throne and produce an heir. That had not happened as yet – he'd met many young ladies and his twenties were certainly a busy time for him, dance card-wise, but he'd not fallen for any of them.

With Rupert two months past his 31st birthday, The King and Queen finally had to impose a deadline on him. He couldn't live as a future King forever and he was going to fast approach the time when he was too old to be a credible playboy. He needed to settle down and live the life he was born to live. As glib and flippant as he could sometimes be, Rupert had a finely honed sense of duty, not to mention an abiding love for his country. So, when his parents approached him about finding a bride, he did agree that it was probably time.

They had offered to do the initial reconnaissance, present him with a more than ample number of young women and leave the choosing to him. If he found no one he thought suitable, the King and Queen agreed to go back out, widen their search and shake the trees for more candidates. A contingency Katherine never thought would have to be implemented.

She now thought, given the choices Rupert did make and how unlikely it was that he would find anyone suitable among them, that she and Henri would again be fighting the battle of the folders. Off the top of her head, she could rattle off at least five names among the 300 they'd given him that would have made perfect matches for him and the country. For the life of her, she didn't think that any of those women were on Rupert's list. She was…well, nonplussed.

Henri was still in comfort mode, saying, "There were quite a few that I would be proud to have as my Queen and my daughter in law: Vanessa Simone, Maryellen Cahill, Elizabeth Channing – all lovely ladies."

She sighed and said, "Yes, I was pleased to see them there. But there were some names that I had to look at twice. I ask you, why Gillian LaConte? Honestly, she's nice, but I think I included her name on that night I forgot to put an ice cube in my wine. And Amelie Kent…", she finished with a baffled sigh.

He shrugged and said, "I don't know. Maybe he's danced with her at some point and he remembered her fondly. But, really, the more I think about who did make the list, I think there are some names that Rupert included that you and I may not have given enough serious consideration. The young lady who studied at Oxford and speaks seven languages, Sophia Maneras, is on his list and I don't think you and I spent more than two minutes discussing her in detail."

He could tell she was coming around when she said, "Yes, I thought that as well. She's someone who we should have noted more. And Arthur and Vivianne's daughter – what is her name – she also made the list. A lovely girl, really. A bit on the austere side for one so young, but bright. What is her name – you know her."

He said, "Oh, yes, yes. Clarisse is her name. Yes, she is a very bright girl. Strong CV if I remember. So, you see! Rupert took this task as seriously as we wanted him to and didn't just throw the files on the floor and pick them up randomly. And it doesn't seem he only looked at the photos, there are some impressive women that he would like to meet."

She said sounding like the calm woman she usually was, "Yes, some very impressive women, in fact. Very impressive women…"

Henri thought she seemed much more sanguine about the future of the Monarchy, but she found her second wind and continued, "…impressive women. And Amelie Kent. Would someone please explain to me, why in the name of all that is holy…"


	3. The Invitation

Hello all,

Chapter 3 has arrived! Thanks to those who've reviewed. It makes it much easier to post when I know that someone is reading!

3

Vivianne Mignionette stood stone still, the envelope emblazoned with the royal seal still resting in her hand where the maid had nervously placed it. One minute she had been sitting at her desk in the living room, looking at her planner, trying to figure out how to squeeze a funeral for a barely tolerated acquaintance into a month so tightly scheduled it threatened to explode off the page, and the next minute…well, she simply could not process what happened next…the implications. Or implication, really. There could only be one reason that the palace sent a personal message addressed to her husband and herself. Every time her brain tried to tell her what the message contained her mind seemed to know the thought would pole-axe her and blew a fuse, cutting off the thought midstream.

She put the missive down gently, as if it might explode if she dropped it. She tapped her fingers on the desk nervously. What to do, what to do? Call Arthur! Yes, call Arthur – he would know what to do about this; he would tell her how they should handle this. He always did, dear Arthur. As she dialed his office, her mind decided she could handle a little information and thoughts began to bolt through her head. Half formulated and distorted thoughts, but thoughts nonetheless. Thoughts of spending Christmas at the pal …

"Minister Mignionette's Office."

"Oh, Daphne. It's Vivianne. I desperately need to speak with Arthur, is he in?" She still hadn't sat down since rising to accept the envelope. Somehow the envelope being in her house was the equivalent of King Henri and Queen Katherine walking in her door.

"Of course, Mrs. Mignionette. I'll put you through."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you." She sang, thrilled beyond compare that Arthur was at his desk. Vivianne sensed a pause on Daphne's end, probably wondering what in the world had gotten into her boss' wife, but the girl said nothing and connected her.

Arthur clicked on the line sounding a bit worried, "Viv? What's the matter? Daphne said you sounded…"

"Oh, Arthur. You won't believe it…we got it!" She said breathlessly. Actually talking about it out loud caused her almost to hyperventilate her words.

Bewildered, Arthur said, "We got what? What did we get?"

She attempted to calm down, putting a hand on her chest to settle her heart. "A letter. From the palace. Hand delivered."

He suddenly knew 'what' they got and, not unlike his wife's experience, the news hit him like a grenade. It landed in his lap, but took a few seconds before actually exploding in his face. Once it did and the ramifications began to abound in his mind, he felt a bit giddy; light in the head, but heavy in the gut – a strange mix of euphoric and…nauseous.

He said quietly, "Ohhh, my."

Vivianne prattled on, "I know, I know. Can you imagine? Can you even comprehend what all of this could mean? I never, ever let myself actually think about what it would mean to get to this point. Oh, my stars. I can't contain myself!"

Arthur could contain himself – but barely. He tried to grasp at one of the thousands of thoughts zipping through his head so fast they could have been on wheels and seized on the most important question. "Does Clarrise know?"

Coming back to herself for a moment and lowering her voice, Vivianne said, "Oh, no. I wanted to speak to you first."

He thought that was a good move. As serious as his daughter was about most things, including agreeing to allow the palace to deliberate her suitability, he didn't think she truly considered the idea that they would be contacted by the King and Queen. He said in a low voice as if he were afraid the walls could hear, "Well, what does the letter say? What does the palace need her to do at this point?"

She blinked, and looked down at the letter sitting on her desk. Unopened. Her heart sank for a moment, thinking that it might not be what she allowed herself to think it was. She said, "Oh, for heaven's sake, I didn't even read it."

That didn't surprise Arthur. He could imagine what a hand delivered letter from the palace would have done to his wife. She hadn't grown up among Genovian royalty as he had, so the palace was still very much a fairy tale type of world for her. She came from a very wealthy, well thought of family in England, but she had no title. She lived under a monarchy but did not come in close contact with them. He himself wasn't royalty, per se, but his family was nobility. His family tree intersected the Renaldi tree marginally, generations ago. The only tangible remnants of that connection was a title and the prestige that a title held in a tiny country like Genovia; a place on the royal invitation lists for events that included 2000 other similarly marginal nobles. He worked for the crown and had been introduced to members of the royal family enough times that there was vague recognition on their faces when they saw him now. Such fringe contact was enough that he could certainly handle a communication from the palace without losing his breath. Still, this was different. This was flying a bit too close to the sun, as it were. If things went further than they stood right now, they would no longer be on the outer bands of royalty, but deep within it; with his only daughter at the very center.

His head swam a bit and he ran his hand down his face, but…Viv hadn't yet opened the letter. That news had the opposite effect on him that it had on his wife. His heart lightened a bit. Maybe they weren't actually on the brink of an utterly bone-jarring life change. Maybe they were being invited to a garden party with 2000 other people. Yes, a garden party with 2000 other people would be nice. In his whole life he had never wanted to go to a garden party with 2000 other people so badly.

He heard Viv opening the letter and waited. She read, "Dear Lord and Lady Mignionette, Their Royal Majesties request the honor of your presence at the Royal Palace of Genovia on the 15th of this month at 4:00 p.m. for high tea with His Royal Highness, Rupert Bertrand Renaldi."

Vivianne continued reading, but Arthur didn't need to hear anymore. The letter was from the King and Queen themselves on Prince Rupert's behalf. The same Prince Rupert who was looking for a bride and who had received Clarisse's CV when her parents, having apparently taken leave of their senses, said yes, please feel free to consider her for the role as his future queen…and wife.

And did she say the 15th of the month? The ides of March for heaven's sake? Who was it that thought that was funny?

"Ugh.", was all he could say.

Vivianne stopped mid-sentence and said, "What, dear? Are you alright? You sound…"

He said, "No, I'm fine. I'm fine. Just a bit thrown. I didn't really expect…I just can't…" He sighed, unable to find the words to explain how he felt.

Vivianne sat down at her desk and said quietly, "I know. Good Lord, Arthur…they want to talk to us about Clarisse; about Clarisse possibly marrying the Crown Prince. Becoming Queen."

Her tone of voice had changed from deliriously giggling school girl to someone more in keeping with his own mood at the moment. The sheer enormity of what was being set in motion, what in fact had been set in motion the moment they agreed to allow Clarisse's name to be considered, was beginning to sink in to her. The Royal Family of Genovia considered their daughter worthy for consideration as the next Queen, not to mention mother to the next King, of a monarchy they had ruled for over 500 years. It was astounding, astonishing news. Not to mention, bone-chillingly frightening. What on earth had they done?

Not that they had much choice; it wasn't a law written and codified, but everyone knew that all eligible young ladies of a certain birth were expected to be available for consideration by the palace; the consent by the family was a mere formality. Families with daughters who were not suitable for one reason or another – a pending engagement or one that had not been formally announced and as yet was not in the royal social register, or an illness (especially those effecting a young woman's ability to bear children), or, God forbid a skeleton in a closet somewhere – were to take it upon themselves to inform the palace that their daughter could not avail herself of the opportunity. Theoretically, parents could remove their daughter's name simply because they didn't want her to marry into the royal family, but he'd never known anyone who even knew someone who had done such a thing. Not in any monarchy had he even heard a 'legend has it' story of a set of parents long, long ago. Arthur and Vivianne had none of the usual issues to deal with regarding Clarisse, so…what was the harm in allowing her name to remain on the list?

He straightened up and tried to clear his head, certain that they had many good reasons for making the decision that they made, even if he couldn't think of a single one at the moment. He said, "Listen Viv, where is Clarisse? Is she home?"

Vivanne said, "Yes, she's upstairs. She came in about a half an hour before the letter arrived. Why? Do you want…you don't want her to come to the phone, surely?"

"No, no. I just…we need to…ugh." He was so flummoxed as to what to do first he almost starting laughing at himself.

He took a breath and said, "You and I need to talk about what we are going to tell her. We'll have to respond to the letter quickly – but I want to talk to her; see how she is about this and get her mentally prepared for what happens next…whatever the bloody hell that is. I don't know that she really thought much past her name being considered. Not that you or I did, either." He took another breath and ran his hand down his face again, "Jesus, Viv this is unnerving – I mean, there's no turning back from this."

Vivianne swallowed and said nothing, forgetting for the moment that Arthur couldn't hear her nodding through the phone.


	4. Breaking the News

Hello again! Here's chapter 4 – Thanks for the reviews, everyone…it's nice to know others 'get' the appeal of these characters.

I suppose I should say a few things…like the fact that I certainly don't own any of these appealing characters or places, just the story line.

Also, it's probably obvious at this point that I am not European and don't have an extensive knowledge of monarchies and how they work. Please extend me a healthy suspension of disbelief if the story sounds ludicrous to those of you who know how marriages are arranged, how nobility fits into your average monarchy and whether any member of a royal family would ever behave the way those in my story do. I mean no offense, but with such characters it's impossible to ignore the royal overtones so, frankly, I'm winging it, sovereignty-wise.

That said, on with the show…

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The minute she walked into the dining room, Clarisse knew something was awry. Her mother gave her a very high strung smile when she saw Clarisse and her father looked vaguely ill as he grinned self-consciously. Clearly they were trying to convey that everything was as it always had been, but to Clarisse they looked like they were in pain.

She continued more slowly to her accustomed chair looking back and forth between her parents. They said nothing as she sat down but never took their eyes off her. She thought immediately that someone had died but dismissed that thought out of hand. They seemed more embarrassed and uneasy than grief stricken. It was like she had walked in and caught them in the middle of some heavy canoodling. She almost wanted to laugh at how comically uncomfortable they looked.

Instead, she said quietly and slowly so as not to alarm them, "Hello."

They both tightened their lips into what Clarisse assumed was supposed to be a pair of reassuring smiles. They were unsuccessful, however. If they strained to smile any more, she was sure one of them was going to crack a rib.

Clarisse said, still cautiously eyeing the two of them as if they might burst into flames at any moment, "Is everything alright?"

Her mother's eyebrows shot up and she nodded her head so fast that Clarisse thought she looked like a tuning fork. Her father cleared his throat and waved his hand vaguely as if to say, 'fine, everything's fine.'

Unfolding her napkin, Clarisse paused for a moment before she said, "I only ask because you both look a little… tense."

Arthur knew this wasn't going to work. He had hoped, seamlessly and with great aplomb, to introduce the topic of the palace summons into the conversation, maybe between the salad and main course – he'd never make it to dessert. Uppermost in his mind was that he did not want to shock Clarisse by just blurting it out. By the tone of her voice, however, they weren't so much 'shocking' her as giving her the impression they were in need of immediate professional care.

He said simply leaning back in his chair, "Well, we have some news. The three of us need to talk."

They way he slumped back in his chair it seemed to Clarisse that whatever it was on his mind was worse than a death, if that was even possible. She immediately girded herself for…well, she couldn't think of one single thing that would have her parents, her father in particular, so clearly distressed. The urge to laugh was long forgotten.

After a moment of looking between them – her mother also seeming to relax with the resignation that they were in fact going to discuss this – Clarisse nodded slightly to prompt her father to end the suspense. "Alright, I think I'm ready. Tell me the news."

Arthur said simply, "We've heard from the palace. You're mother and I have been invited to tea with Their Majesties and Prince Rupert."

Having prepared herself to digest enormous news, Clarisse was looking intently at her father, waiting for information. Waiting , in fact, for 'the news'. When he said no more, she furrowed her brow and glanced over at her mother, wondering if she was going to explain further when it dawned on her what her father was saying to her. Slowly, the penny dropped, and when it did, her stomach felt the way it does when one gets a great scare…like stepping off the curb almost walking in front of a car. Her whole body seemed to flush.

She looked back at her father, eyebrows raised in disbelief, "You mean…they want to talk to you about…?"

Arthur had read the rest of the communication from the palace when he got home and, in fact, it stated that the Royal Family wanted to discuss introducing their son to their daughter. When he had finally put the letter down, he thought he could actually hear, off in the distance, an enormous boulder starting to roll down a long hill.

He said, eyeing his daughter carefully, "Yes. It's exactly that."

Vivianne said quietly, but with evident eagerness, "They want to talk to us about introducing you to the Prince."

Clarisse looked at the two of them, unsure of how she felt about the news. She was caught between extremes. Two thoughts entered her mind at the same instant: one, 'How flattering', and two, 'Oh, my God, no'. She noted distantly that at least with the proverbial cat out of the bag, her parents looked much more like themselves.

She relaxed her shoulders and leaned slowly back in the chair and said only, "Oh…myyyy."

Arthur was amused to note that her reaction was virtually identical to his own; what more could one say but 'oh, my'? He felt slightly less tense now that the news was out and Clarisse seemed to be functioning under the weight of it. She was gazing fixedly at the plate in front of her, eyebrows furrowed, deep in thought. He reached over and placed his hand on hers, bringing her out of her reverie.

She looked at him and smiled bashfully. She suddenly felt… odd; apart; isolated, as if her parents were now across a great divide. She felt singled out and not like everyone else around her, as if someone just told her she won a lottery…or had some debilitating disease. She could see the same sense of severing from her parents, in very different ways. Her mother was so thrilled she could barely contain herself. She was leaning over her dinner plate, hands clenched, staring purposefully at Clarisse with an intensity that was almost scary. Her father simply looked sad.

Clarisse felt something else, swirling inside her like smoke. She couldn't name it…it was too elusive to grasp, and she was distracted by the weight of her parents staring at her to place the feeling. For no other reason than to fill the silence, she said slowly, "Well, that is stunning news, to say the least." After a pause in which her mother didn't move a muscle and her father smiled ruefully, she continued more briskly, "Well, what's next?"

Arthur looked at Vivianne and said with a deep breath, "Well, we need to respond to the palace. Tomorrow. We wanted to talk to you first about how you felt about this before we do anything."

Vivianne said promptly, "From what the note said, only your father and I are required at this meeting. You wouldn't need to appear at the palace, as yet, so don't worry about that."

Arthur blurted out, "That is, if you want us to go at all."

Vivianne looked at her husband confused and a bit annoyed that he was still so reticent to embrace this. They'd spoken for over an hour on the phone about the thousand ways this was both exciting and terrifying, she had focused on former, he on the latter. Nonetheless, Vivianne had assumed that the two of them felt unquestionably more excited than terrified; felt, in fact, that this was extraordinary. The very idea that he was thinking of telling the King and Queen, 'Uhm…Thank you, no' to their offer was appalling to her. Not just because it would be the height of offense to do so, but because it would be a sinfully selfish waste of a literally once in a lifetime opportunity for their daughter. In fact, opportunity wasn't a big enough word to describe what this could mean for Clarisse.

She was about to say just that when Clarisse spoke up with an equally confused look on her face, "Well, I'm assuming you couldn't simply 'refuse' to go…?"

Arthur said nervously, feeling his wife's and daughter's eyes weighing heavily on him, "Well, uh…I just meant…that we can…that you don't have to…uhm…" He trailed off lamely, knowing he had nothing to say.

The elusive feeling that had lurked within Clarisse's mind suddenly came into complete focus – the word 'irrevocable' clanged in her head. As she listened to her father fumble for options, she realized, realistically, there were no options; the palace had summoned them on her behalf. She couldn't tell her parents to refuse. Not unless she wanted to offend the palace, set fire to her father's career and for all intents and purposes, destroy her family name. She couldn't un-ring the bell.

Quickly noting the corner in which she found herself and taking no time to linger over the detour her life had suddenly taken, she said the only thing that she could. Steadily and with as much self-possession as she could muster, she said to her father, "Well, if you are looking for my 'blessing' as it were, then you should, of course, tell the palace that you will meet with them."

She smiled calmly at both her parents and her mother beamed back. Arthur looked at his daughter's pretty face and like always, couldn't help but smile at the sight. He just hoped that the tiny stab he felt in his heart didn't show on his face.

TBC---Feel free to weigh in!

Thx.


	5. Aren't There Any Normal Parents?

Hello again! Here is another update. A bit shorter than the others, but necessary, I thought. (I love writing Rupert – I can do anything I want with him!)

Thanks to those of you who have reviewed – I shamelessly wallow in them! (Honestly, they help spur me on, so keep those cards and letters coming!)

Needless to say, I own nothing…just the story.

5

Rupert left his suite, feeling less … yucky, for lack of a better word, than he had when he came up to his rooms an hour ago. He had come from meeting the most dreadful set of parents. They were practically salivating at the idea of having him marry their daughter. They didn't even try to hide their affinity for all things royal and their willingness to bargain anything to become a part of the royal way of life. Perhaps they thought they were simply conveying their enthusiasm for the idea of joining the two families, but Rupert found it a touch distasteful to be quite so eager to marry their daughter off to someone whose character, future king or not, was completely unknown to them.

His own parents typically let him take the lead in these interviews, stepping in to add shading to the conversations but mostly just looking on, then playing fierce devil's advocates once the parents had left. But even they seemed turned off and had little to say in opposition to his distaste.

He pitied the poor daughter of these two objectionable people. He had thought, from her file and photo, that Amelie was the exact opposite of what the Kent's turned out to be. She seemed understated and refined. He now thought maybe she wasn't so much 'composed' as she was a mentally abused wallflower browbeaten by her overbearing parents. He knew it was not to be with poor Amelie and decided not to schedule a meeting with her personally. Poor thing, maybe he knew someone agreeable who would appreciate such a courtly looking lady and who would be able to tolerate her mercenary parents. A tall order, indeed.

The whole process was wearing on Rupert's mind a bit. He felt a responsibility for these women now that he'd involved them in his duty to secure the Monarchy. It was one thing wading through photos, imagining how the portraits of himself standing beside one girl or another might look in the throne room. It was another thing entirely to be part of 'negotiations' with a young girl's parents over whether – let's not sugar coat it – he would like to procreate with her.

He could tell that years of hopes and dreams were wrapped up in the possibility of becoming Rupert's wife; and that was just from meeting the parents. He fairly dreaded actually meeting these women face to face, talking to them, getting to know them, very possibly growing to like them, only to have to reject them like some bad idea. After all, he could only choose one.

Of course, in order to choose one, he had to meet at least one. Thus far, having met the parents of exactly half of the women he'd put on his list, he had requested to meet…none. He knew his own parents were about one rejection away from being apoplectic, but frankly, if he was going to subject the young lady, not to mention himself, to the grueling face to face 'interview', he better not have any qualms. Like the fact that her parents made him sick, for instance.

On his way down the stairs to the sitting room, he prayed hard that Lord and Lady Mignionette, the next duo, were palatable. If for no other reason than not to have to reject one more girl out of hand.

TBC...so, what say you?


	6. Woolgathering

It's me again. Here is chapter Six…a wordy one.

I hope to update again soon, but I am slogging through the next chapters, trying to get on paper (or on-screen) exactly the point I'm trying to make without telling the whole story in one chapter. I really need to hire an editor!

Hope you enjoy, and, as always, it's nice to hear from you all! (And I own nothing…blah, blah, blah).

6

Clarisse sat at her desk, by all appearances, proofreading a speech she had helped write for the Associate Head of the Secondary Education Division of the Ministry of Education and Welfare and was having trouble concentrating. Or was it…maybe it was the Primary Education Division…she wasn't sure. She was a distraction to herself what with constantly forcing herself to sit up straighter in her chair. At this moment, her parents were at the palace, meeting with Their Majesties and His Highness and for some reason she felt she needed to look presentable while that happened. Needless to say, with such mad thoughts rolling around her head, her work was suffering. She shook her head slightly and leaned back in her chair, looking out the window.

She'd known this meeting was scheduled for three days but it still had the ring of little girl bedtime reading. Palaces, Majesties and Highnesses were an ever present, if obscure, part of her existence as a Genovian subject, but she rather thought of it like gravity; yes, it applied to her, but it never turned it's focus specifically and solely on her.

She had told no one about her parents' meeting and what it might mean. It just wasn't something you spoke about. No one did. Clarisse suspected that she knew a great number of girls who had been considered, and possibly were still being considered, as candidates, but had heard nothing. She had no idea what…'round', for lack of a better word, she was in at this point; final five or final five hundred? She just didn't know and it was that lack of context that had her moods swinging from flattered, to terrified, over to calmly honored and stopping finally at quiet resignation that this would come to nothing at all. At any rate, she would certainly know more by dinner time.

She just hoped her parents made it through. Her father seemed especially unstrung. Her mother was clearly awed at the prospect of facing the white hot glare of royalty, but it was the kind of fright that came from the sheer determination of going after something you want so much; and Vivianne, though she came across as a bit flighty and fidgety in her everyday moments, was focused beyond reason when she wanted something. Clarisse knew that her mother would be going into this meeting with a very clear goal: Have her daughter ascend to the throne. And she would bring to bear considerable talents to that end. Vivianne was born with etiquette in her bones and had an uncanny ability to read people and know how to charm them. No matter how tense or frightening or fraught with complexities a situation was, her mother always knew just how to present herself in such a way as to please. Her father on the other hand…

Clarisse smiled a bit to herself as she thought of how shaky her father was when he tried to tell her about the communication from the palace. He was always a bit more 'authentic' than her mother. He didn't really present himself to people so much as he just was who he was. If he was enthusiastic about something, people knew it and if he wasn't, well, people knew it. It was her father's emotional candor that Clarisse thought of when trying to picture him in the presence of the King, Queen and Crown Prince. He seemed ambivalent about the prospect of Clarisse entering the royal fold and she wasn't sure how that might come across to the Renaldi's.

After three days of thinking about it, Clarisse still wasn't sure which of her parents she hoped made the bigger impression. Her ego, flattered by the palace's interest, wanted her mother to charm them with her enthusiasm, but the rest of her wouldn't have been devastated if her father underwhelmed them with the lack of his. Certainly, this meeting was just the beginning of the process, whatever the process was, but thinking of what this first step could lead to – becoming her Royal Majesty, Queen of Genovia –made her head spin.

She had forced herself to actually think about what being a queen meant. Surprisingly, the upside and downside presented themselves very quickly. On the upside, was the allure of service. Concern for her nation was a seed planted by her parents. Through their actions and words they taught her that a life lived in service to one's country was a life well spent. They each served Genovia in their own way…her father by working directly for the crown, her mother by immersing herself in as many good works causes as were out there. They felt that it was not only an honor, but an _obligation_ of every citizen to serve his country, and anyone who did not was shirking his responsibility.

That was why she was proofreading, or actually at present ignoring, the education speech on her desk…because as her first job out of school she wanted to work for the Crown. With her education she could have done more lucrative things, but she had wanted to serve her country. Granted, being an associate speech writer on a staff of 20 other neophytes was serving in, shall we say, an understated way, but, nonetheless…

Her parents raised her to care. And she did care. She cared a great deal about Genovia. There was so much she loved about her country, so much she wanted for it, so much that she actually thought she could do for it. Though she never thought she could be in a position to do quite so much, being offered the opportunity to serve in such a monumental way was truly a gift; an honor; a call that could not be ignored.

She was almost ashamed to focus on the downside but in the privacy of her own mind, at least, Clarisse couldn't ignore her worries. She simply couldn't begin to grasp how daunting being a queen must be. To be responsible for the well-being of over nine million people, to make every decision both public and private with them in mind, to make it one's life work to ensure that they were better off for her having been queen …and failing? The thought of her decisions actually harming the people of Genovia, making their every day lives more difficult because of unforeseen consequences due to lack of experience, lack of foresight or, God forbid, lack of competence made her physically queasy.

She was not a girl easily deterred by a challenging task and had more than her fair share of ambition. Nothing she'd attempted in her life, or things she'd even dreamed of attempting one day, had her questioning her own capabilities. She never, ever, went into any situation worrying about failing. But this…this seemed…outside of her realm, so to speak. The mettle required of a queen was something more, something other…something beyond what she could offer.

She shook her head almost imperceptibly as she furrowed her brow, still gazing out the window. How could anyone look at her and think of a queen? She was a girl who simply lived her life, worrying about her grades, worrying whether she was too worried about her grades, wondering if it was, as her girlfriends said, her studiousness that kept the boys at bay or if it was the cursed freckles across her nose that still hadn't faded as she'd hoped they would? The most pressing issue on her mind was not the state of Genovia's education system, but rather if there was a way to hide the fact that she had bowed legs and still wear cute dresses. Honestly, would a queen worry about her legs? Or freckles? Would a queen even have freckles?

Of course she wouldn't, but here she sat, Clarisse Mignionette, nose as spotted as a dalmation, in contention for the nation's highest position that a woman could hold. Her name was being bandied about the palace as if she were worthy of the honor of becoming Genovia's next queen when she was so obscenely unqualified. What would happen if the royal family continued to labor under their delusions that she could do what they ask? What would happen when they realized they were wrong and it was too late to do anything about it? She would have let down her parents, her monarchs, her entire country.

She felt her lip begin to quiver as she squirmed under the unfamiliar feeling of inadequacy. She sighed shakily and immediately hated the way it sounded. A flare of anger surged through her that she had been asked to do something she wasn't sure she could do, put into a position where she doubted herself, forced to wallow in her shortcomings. She loathed feeling this way and testily refused to give into it. She wiped her eyes furiously, swallowed the lump in her throat and, in the cramped office she shared with three other neophytes, unconsciously sat up straighter in her chair.

TBC


	7. Things Are Looking Up

Alright, everyone, I'm not too big to admit that this and the next chapter (coming soon), basically kicked my ass. I wrote, tore apart, and rewrote the two of them time and time again. I can't get the point I'm trying to make across any better. Hopefully, they are consistent with the personalities I already set down.

Any advice and/or criticism would be appreciated!

Beyond all that, enjoy the journey!

------

Rupert thought to himself, 'This is more like it.' Finally, he was speaking to people who didn't necessarily think that unquestioningly handing over their daughter to someone they'd only read about in the newspaper was the most delightful idea in the world. What he was dealing with here was a living, breathing set of sane, concerned parents.

Even Lady Mignionnette, who, between the two of them was the far more enthusiastic parent, seemed more focused on getting to know Rupert rather than bombarding him with her daughter's emotional, intellectual and physical attributes. She asked him questions about his hobbies, his memories of his time at school, his Godchildren, even how he was handling the search process. She appeared to be making warm conversation and seemed sincerely interested in his answers, but Rupert felt she was also trying to get a sense of him as a person, which, as far as he was concerned, was a completely natural impulse. She was plainly impressed and honored to be at the palace, but not so much that she forgot about her daughter's well-being. Rupert respected that a great deal.

Lord Mignionette…wore his reservations much more on his sleeve, as it were. Rupert was used to seeing…well, awe, frankly, on the faces of those he met. Underneath Arthur's admittedly agreeable exterior, however, he was regarding Rupert with a great deal of suspicion. Rupert quickly realized that, as far as Arthur seemed to be concerned it was Rupert being interviewed, not the Mignionette's. Rupert almost wanted to laugh that, with a Monarchy in the balance, the future of the Renaldi bloodline at stake, and the staggering opportunity being offered to the right woman, what clearly concerned Arthur most was giving away his little girl.

Suddenly a very un-royal picture flashed across Rupert's mind of himself standing on a stoop, flowers in hand, nervously fiddling with his collar, praying he didn't make a perfect ass of himself as the father of a girl he was thinking about marrying skeptically opened the door. The situation made odd only by the fact that Rupert had yet to meet said girl.

Arthur's was such a refreshingly human reaction, the reaction that Rupert had been looking for in other parents, that his respect for Arthur Mignionette was cemented. Because of that, Rupert wanted to meet the challenge of reassuring Arthur. He knew, though, that he needed to talk to this man as a man; not as a Prince, not as a future King – all of which Arthur already knew he was and was already not impressed with – but as a man sitting across the table from him. Most of the conversation was masquerading in idle chit-chat but he knew that these parents were listening closely and gleaning as much as they could. Rupert dropped the royal exterior, to the extent that he could, and just tried to be as honest and forthright with them as he possibly could. All he could do was be himself and hope that the basically decent man he thought of himself as being came through. Whether he met their daughter or not, he wanted them to know that he took this entire situation very seriously and meant no disrespect to the women involved.

His own parents seemed to sense that Rupert wasn't repelled by the Mignionettes and that this might actually lead to him wanting to meet with their daughter, because they were in good humor as they enjoyed their tea, less in their roles as mere observers. To all outward appearances they looked like a group of sociable people simply getting to know one another.

It occurred to Rupert that at this point in every other interview he'd conducted he was simply awash in both relevant and irrelevant information about the young lady in question, her parents having talked of nothing else once sitting across from him. While, for all intents and purposes the conversation was dominated by the subject of Clarisse, very little of the talk had been about Clarisse directly. Having grown comfortable with the type of people her parents were, Rupert wanted to know a bit more about her.

In an effort to bring Clarisse, actually into the conversation, Rupert said, "You must be very proud of your daughter. I've read the articles she's written and they're very impressive. Particularly those regarding the current state of education."

Arthur genuinely warmed at the first real mention of Clarisse, and said, "Yes. She's very passionate about education. She works for the Ministry of Education as an associate speech writer while she attends university."

Working while going to school, while not unheard of, was not typical for a young woman in her position. Rupert said with real curiosity, "Hmm, putting her considerable writing talents to good use. Is that what she wants to do, ultimately – become a writer; maybe a speech writer or journalist?"

Arthur said with a smile, "No, she has bigger plans than that, actually…" He looked over at Vivianne, who chuckled back.

Rupert's calm demeanor tensed and he braced himself. That was the kind of statement, in every other interview he'd had, that led to 'The big pitch.' He fully prepared himself to hear a story of how Clarisse wanted nothing more than to be a queen and live in a palace and produce heirs since she was four days old. He said, tolerantly, "Oh, really. So, tell me, what does she want to be when she grows up?"

Arthur said, matter of factly, looking Rupert directly in the eye, "The first female member of parliament."

Rupert paused. He didn't expect that. Then again, a woman who was at university and worked at an entry level job when she didn't actually need to sounded like someone not afraid of hard, thankless work. It certainly had it's perks, but if anything described Parliament it was hard and thankless. He was amused to realized that he actually felt a little embarrassed that he assumed this young woman's only ambition was to be his wife.

He said truthfully, "Well, I'll be very honest with you, someone will be the first woman in parliament…it very well could be your daughter, just from what little I know about her."

Vivianne said casually, seeing an opening to plead Clarisse's case without seeming to be pleading Clarisse's case, "She's always wanted to serve the country. She toyed with the idea of going to law school and very heavily considered becoming a teacher, but in the last analysis, she decided neither of those paths gave her the sense that she would be making the best use of her strengths or her time." She added with a laugh, "Not that we didn't try to persuade her otherwise. I thought, still do feel, that she would have made a wonderful teacher. She has an abiding love of learning herself and has endless patience, which I think is a good teacher's most precious talent. Not just anyone can be a teacher – I certainly couldn't."

Arthur continued, "I threw my lot in with the law. She's a remarkable problem solver, which is essentially what a lawyer is. Or should be. But Clarisse said solving problems, not to mention patience, are skills that are at a premium in parliament, so after graduating and deciding to continue her studies, she's been focused on international politics. Frankly, with the possible exception of chef, I don't think there is much that Clarisse couldn't do with her life."

The Queen said lightly, "She sounds much too busy to be worrying about being a good cook."

Pleased that the seeds she'd been planting all afternoon about her daughter's hard-working character were being noticed, Vivianne took up the light banter and said, "I must remember to tell my mother in law that when she criticizes my cooking."

Arthur said shaking his head, "Clarisse tried to make some sort of dessert for the bridal shower of one of her girlfriends and, well…let's just say when she emerged from the kitchen in a puff of flour four hours later, mumbling something about needing more 'bloody sprinkles', I knew a career in the culinary arts most certainly had not been born."

King Henri said seriously, "More importantly, though…what kind of horsewoman is she?"

Arthur said equally serious, "Exemplary. Knowing my duty as a father, I made sure she learned the important things first."

Everyone laughed and Rupert knew that was the clincher. He knew his father was sold and that his parents would have him beheaded if he didn't ask to meet this girl. Frankly, he was again intrigued and wanted to meet her, himself. She seemed to have a very full life, even without the prospect of marrying into royalty. She had her own ambitions and plans, her own mind. That was a bit of a relief to Rupert. For one thing, he wouldn't feel as guilty if he wound up not choosing Clarisse as he already did about Amelie Kent, for instance. On top of that, she sounded like a fascinating person. He fully expected that, no matter whether he chose her or not, he would have an engaging time in her company.

TBC…God help me.


	8. Reality Sets In for Arthur

Hello everyone. Here is the next chapter in my saga. A tough one…I was trying to represent the pros and cons of an arranged marriage without either character coming off as the bad guy; and, whew, am I exhausted!

Things should be picking up soon, in terms of the pace of the story. These last two chapters were definitely a bottle neck in the journey, but it looks like clear sailing ahead (famous last words…)

Anyway, hope you enjoy. Again, criticism (especially of this and the last chapters) is completely welcome.

8

The smile on Arthur's face gradually faded the further away he got from the palace as he realized how well everything had gone with the Renaldi's – and what awful news that was. How could he have let that happen? How could he not have sabotaged the meeting in some way? One asinine comment, a tragically broken heirloom, an ill-timed belch…any well placed social faux pas might have killed the momentum. But no, they had to be charming. Damn their souls. He sighed, knowing he was just blowing off steam; he would no more be disrespectful to Their Majesties than he would run naked through Pyrus just for kicks. He took another deep breath, feeling like he was slowly being strangled by invisible smoke.

He found himself shaking his head slowly as he tried to tune out Vivianne, who apparently intended to spend the entire ride back from the palace recounting every delightful moment of their tea with the King and Queen. Clearly, she realized things had gone as well as he did, and was over the moon about it. However, her unrestrained excitement was aggravating the hell out of Arthur.

He said stiffly, "Vivianne, please spare me this recap. I was sitting right beside you, if you remember. I don't need a blow by blow of a tea that I actually attended."

Vivianne looked at her husband with a look of confusion, as she had for the umpteenth time in the last three days, and said, "Arthur, you'll have to excuse me, but I am not about to sit on my hands when you and I have just secured a personal meeting for our daughter with the Crown Prince. Did you see the look on Prince Rupert's face while I was talking about Clarisse? He was entranced. Entranced, I tell you! He is going to ask to meet her. I know he is."

Getting more and more prickly as she spoke, Arthur said, "You don't know that, Vivianne. You have absolutely no idea what the man is thinking, so until, if ever, such a communication comes from the palace could you please get some control of yourself? This unrepentant lust for the crown is getting embarrassing."

Vivianne's face reddened with mortification and anger. She had spent the better part of the afternoon carefully displaying a restraint and dignity specifically designed so as not to embarrass herself. She labored mightily not to seem too eager in front of Their Majesties, and especially His Highness. She sensed that they wouldn't respond to sycophants and had very deliberately carried herself with an air of nonchalance that had all but guaranteed Clarisse a place on the short list of candidates. And Arthur, who had spent the last three days in an inexplicable funk and who was, at best, polite through most of this tea, leaving her almost single-handedly to accomplish their goal, was telling her to 'get control' of herself? The very idea that he begrudged her a little excitement now that they were out of view of the palace was infuriating.

She quietly hit the button for the privacy screen of the limo and when it thumped into place, she coldly said, "Arthur, I don't know what is wrong with you, but you have no call to talk to me that way. If you are incapable of seeing what we accomplished this afternoon and be excited about it, then I simply don't know what to say to you. And frankly, if all you have to offer is more petty irritability, then I would prefer you say nothing at all and let me be happy."

He felt Viv's hurt feelings behind her cold rebuke and he was sorry. He understood exactly why she was as thrilled as she was that the tea went well. She was right, Rupert was going to ask to meet Clarisse face to face and Arthur knew that it was Viv's effort that had made it happen. She had every right to be proud of herself and he was just being a bastard by not telling her so and not letting her be happy.

He looked over at her as she made an extravagant show of not looking at him. He reached out his hand and took one of her own. When she didn't look at him, he shook her hand slightly and said, "Vivvy?"

When she turned toward him, he said, "I am sorry. You're right. I'm being an ass. You charmed them thoroughly today and I'm sure we'll be getting another hand delivery from the palace in the next couple of days. It's wonderful news."

His lack of conviction as he said that last statement was not lost on Vivianne. She said with real concern, "Arthur, what is it that is keeping you from seeing how extraordinary this is? Don't you see what a monumental thing is being asked of our daughter? _Our daughter,_ Arthur…there can be no greater honor than this. Why don't you see that?"

He sighed heavily. He didn't need Viv to tell him that what was being offered his daughter was as reverent an honor as can be conferred on a citizen. His heart almost burst with pride every time he thought about it. As out of the blue as this offer was, he found it remarkably easy to picture Clarisse as a queen. More than once in the last three days, he lost himself thinking of the intelligence and caring she could bring to the role, the good that she could do, the grace with which she would carry herself as she carved a place in history along side over 500 years of sovereigns. It almost took his breath away to realize that the rulers of his country saw all of these things when they looked at his daughter.

All of the benefits of this offer were a given. He couldn't argue a single one. Still, he felt trapped…east of the rock, west of the hard place. Try as he might, he just couldn't see this offer as Vivianne did – a blessing from heaven; a gift so favorable that it needn't be examined or considered, just accepted. He just couldn't do it. He couldn't ignore the nagging feeling of uneasiness that lingered behind the pride he felt.

He said with difficulty, "I don't know, Viv. I'm as proud as I can be when I think of Clarisse becoming queen. But…when I think…"

She said gently, "What? Tell me."

He sighed again, clearly struggling. He desperately wanted to explain this feeling, this uncomfortable feeling that tinged every thought he had about this situation. He turned to face her directly as he said, troubled, "This isn't just about Clarisse becoming queen, Vivianne. This isn't just about what an honor it is for her, or us, or even just about serving her country. All of that is part of it, maybe even most of it, and that's all wonderful – it is, truly, Viv, I understand that it's miraculous and amazing, and if that's all it was, I'd be the first to shout from the rooftops, 'My daughter can do the job!'"

When he paused, Vivianne urged quietly, "…but…?"

He said, obviously disturbed, "But…that's not all it is! It's also about Clarisse becoming someone's wife. I mean, my God, Viv…think about that! You think about what we were _really_ talking about over tea today! She's only 19 years old for heaven's sake!" He swallowed hard and said more quietly, "Take the pomp and circumstance of being queen out of the situation and then tell me that what we were doing was noble and honorable."

Vivianne said nothing. She knew what he was saying. She, of course, knew what went hand in hand with becoming queen. It, too, made her slightly…uncomfortable; but when put along side the chance being offered…was it such a high price to pay?

Arthur shook his head, now looking out his window, breathing through his nose. He said emotionally, "I don't know, Viv. I just can't get past the…unseemliness of this. All this talk of honor and duty…and what keeps coming to mind is how embarrassed Clarisse was that time I caught her doodling Nigel Egan's name on her notebook when she was 15. That was barely four years ago! It's indecent. Jesus, we're talking about my little girl, here, and I just spent the afternoon peddling her to a stranger ..."

Appalled, Vivianne spoke up firmly, "That's not what we did…"

He shook his head and cut her off, still not looking at her, "You can frame it any way you'd like, but that's how it felt."

Vivianne said strongly, "They came to us, Arthur. The palace came to us because they need our help. We have a responsibility, Clarisse has a responsibility, to answer their call to duty. Our monarchy needs a queen and I am not going to sit here and feel awful that the Renaldi's looked at our daughter and saw that queen. No."

Arthur turned to look at Vivianne and said, "Well, I'm sorry, I can't look at it with that kind of tunnel vision. There is an element of seediness to all of this that you are deliberately ignoring. When you get right down to it, we are selling our child to a 30 year old man that we don't know and telling ourselves it's alright because he'll be a king one day."

Vivianne fumed fiercely, "How dare you! How dare you even suggest that I would be party to such a thing! From the beginning, I have thought not a whit about the pomp and circumstance, as you call it. My only concern has been for Clarisse and her future. If you had stopped sulking for one moment this afternoon, you would have seen that I was not 'selling' our daughter, but moving heaven and earth to find out as much about Rupert's character as I could in the two short hours that I had. Clarisse's happiness and her best interests have been my reason for living since the day she was born and I resent the implication that you are the only one thinking about her welfare. Because you are not thinking about Clarisse, Arthur. You, my dear, are thinking about you! You are concerned about what's best for _you_ and what will make _you_ happy, not Clarisse."

It was Arthur's turn to be outraged, "How can you even say that? All I'm doing is trying to protect her future. You see that as selfish?"

Vivianne shot back, "You are not trying to protect her future, you, as always, are trying to keep her from growing up. This is just like when you told her, yes, she should take extra classes during the summer, rather than encouraging her to spend her time going out and socializing. You have never been comfortable thinking about Clarisse as an adult, so you urge her to stay in her shell. You think that will keep the adult world away, but it won't. And neither will sabotaging this opportunity for her. Taking this away from her won't keep Clarisse a child forever, Arthur. It won't keep her a virgin forever either."

Caught completely off guard and mortified at his wife's accusations, Arthur exploded, "That is not what I am trying to do!"

Vivianne matched him decibel for decibel, "Yes it is! You say, 'She's only 19 years old!' as if she's still playing with dolls. She is 19 years old, Arthur – she's a grown woman. Girls her age are engaged, some of them already married." She eyed him heavily and said, "Some are doing other things, Arthur. Believe me – I know the mothers of most of her friends very well and I know half of the girls Clarisse socializes with are not…still playing with dolls, shall we say."

Arthur was staggered by this very, very unwanted information. He looked aghast at his wife, "What in bloody hell has that got to do with Clarisse?"

Vivianne said hotly, "Clarisse may be a late bloomer, Arthur, but she's ultimately no different than her friends. If she were a more outgoing girl, it might have already happened, but make no mistake, Arthur, given enough time, it will happen."

Arthur looked at his wife, dumbfounded by the sudden, unwanted turn this conversation had taken, unable to say a word.

Vivianne shook her head, reading the expression on his face and said, "Arthur, do you really think that Clarisse is exempt from the same temptations as any other girl her age? God knows, she can come across as the picture of pure virtue, but she is human. As you, yourself, pointed out, barely four years ago she was lost in thoughts of Nigel Egan. Do you think not even one of them was impure?"

Arthur closed his eyes briefly. He was drowning in the uncharted waters of his daughter's carnal inclinations and needed a moment to compose himself. In hopes of keeping Vivianne from delving even more deeply into this discussion, he asked her to wrap it up. He mumbled, "What is your point, Vivianne."

She said slowly, "My point is, if you take this opportunity away from her, you'll be banishing her to the same commonplace life that her peers are living; going to university, studying, working, being prodded by her friends into meeting boys. You know how she is, Arthur; mature in her bearing, but very naïve in actual experience. She'll wind up spending her weekends wrestling with drunken Lords in the back seats of cars until she finally gives into one of them because he's 'cute' or because he said she has pretty eyes." Vivianne sighed disgustedly at the banality of it all.

Arthur's head was spinning. He groaned, "Oh, my God, Vivianne – I cannot believe I am listening to this!"

Vivianne seemed not to hear him as she drearily gazed out the window, considering her daughter's bleak future, "She'll marry, have children and spend her entire adult life going to cotillions in between weddings and funerals. How useful a woman she will be!"

Arthur said weakly, "It doesn't have to be that way, Viv."

Vivianne went on, almost cruelly, "No, you're right. If we leave her on the path she's on now, it's just as likely that she'll wind up alone, spending her time just studying and working – still admirably virginal but desperately lonely. I don't know if you've noticed dear, but Clarisse is not exactly the most gregarious of girls."

Arthur looked at his at his wife for a moment before saying defensively, "She's reserved. What's your point?"

Vivianne scoffed, "She's more than reserved, Arthur. She's very nearly unapproachable."

Deeply offended, Arthur spoke up, "What do you mean? She's very popular. Everyone loves her!"

Vivianne said indulgently, "Yes, her girlfriends love her, her girlfriends' parents love her, her teachers love her…boys her age, however, don't even understand her. She's so bloody…sedate, that they don't know what to make of her, so they just walk on by!"

Arthur looked at his wife as if he'd never met her. Confounded, he said, "So, because she's a bit introverted you are willing to just give up on her? You don't even allow for the possibility that a young man could meet her and fall in love with her, want to marry her? Christ, Viv, do you really think that the only way she won't be lonely is to be handed over to a man who's getting too old _not_ to have a wife?"

Still looking out the window, Vivianne shook her head, frustrated at how much he was missing the point.

Arthur continued, marveling at her, "I don't care how…quiet she is, it's a sin to deny her the chance to find a life of her own. You want to take all of her choices away from her. I admit, I may be a bit too protective of her, but I would never deny her the right to look for someone she loves and build a life with him, if that's what she wants. I can't imagine why you would want to take that away from her."

Turning to Arthur, Vivianne said, "That's what you want for Clarisse? Husband, home, family?"

Arthur said, "What's wrong with that? There are girls out there who would give their eye teeth to have those things."

She said pointedly, "Tell me Arthur where, in this dream of middle class bliss that you envision for Clarisse, does becoming the first female member of Parliament fit in?"

He furrowed his brow, a bit surprised at her topic change. He shook his head and said, "I don't know what you mean."

Vivianne said, "Parliament, Arthur; you remember Parliament? That's a real goal of hers; not a joke, not a ploy to 'sell' her to the Renaldi's but an honest to God ambition of Clarisse's. Yes?"

Arthur took a deep breath, feeling half a step behind. He wasn't sure how, but he suspected that she was about to pull the thread that would unravel his argument. He said, "Yes, so?"

She said as if talking to someone a bit slow, "Well, ask yourself – are any of the young men in Clarisse's circle, whose head she might turn, the type to support her desire to serve in such a way? Of all the parents of eligible young men that we know, can you think of any of them that raised their sons to want more from their wives than to be good hostesses?"

Arthur sat looking at his wife, at a complete loss as to how to refute her point. He didn't know what to say anymore. He didn't know what to _think_ anymore. He felt like he was being pummeled by a boxer much better prepared than he. He sighed again. All he wanted was to protect his daughter…when did that become a bad thing? How did he become the bad guy?

Vivianne went on passionately, taking his hands in hers, "Oh, Arthur, Clarisse is on the brink of being offered the chance to live an extraordinary life! A life that would allow her to have _everything _she wants; a family of her own _and_ the freedom to be the intelligent, thoughtful woman that she is. Without apologies. Clarisse has so many gifts, Arthur; she's so bright, she's strong – stronger than even she knows – she's persuasive, charming, compassionate; she could accomplish so much as Queen with those talents. It would be a crime for all of that to be put on a shelf, her potential ignored and forgotten, while she languished in an uninspiring existence. She's made for better things than garden parties and bridge clubs."

She paused as Arthur seemed to be losing his grip on his argument. She continued, gently, "She can do this, Arthur. She's capable of doing what is being asked of her. She should do it. I mean, not only is she qualified to serve in a profound way, but being offered the chance to do it; to occupy the most powerful position a woman can hold in this country. Doesn't she have an obligation, to herself and her country, to accomplish all that she can?"

Arthur was depressed to discover that he agreed with Vivianne's rationale. He didn't want her to be right, but he knew ultimately, she was. Everything she said made sense; Clarisse was capable of achieving so much more than the life he envisioned for her would ever allow. She should be in a position to flourish, to have all of her considerable gifts brought out into the light and have them put to good use. If it were anyone but his own daughter in this position, he wouldn't think twice about advising that person to embrace this opportunity. He should have been thrilled that it _was_ his daughter in this position, that Clarisse could be destined for such great things, but all he felt was exhausted and deeply sad.

After several moments of staring out the window, mentally preparing to admit defeat to himself, he made a last ditch effort to breath life into his ever weakening argument that Clarisse belonged in his world rather than in Rupert Renaldi's. He played the only card that Vivianne hadn't trumped, Arthur said defeatedly, "So a loveless marriage is the price she has to pay for being an extraordinary woman. Clarisse doesn't get the butterflies that come with the mere thought of someone special, she doesn't get to feel that surge of exhilaration when the phone rings for her, she doesn't get love letters to read over and over again. She gets none of that."

Vivianne looked away from the resigned expression in Arthur's eyes. Guilt washed over her; as fiercely as she knew that becoming part of the royal family was the best thing that could ever happen to Clarisse…he was right. Clarisse would very probably get none of that.

After a moment, she said gently, knowing how inadequate her response would sound to him, "Love…is so elusive, Arthur. She could live her whole life not as queen and still never fall in love." She paused and continued, almost apologetically, "I just don't think the mere possibility of love is worth losing her chance at real greatness. It just doesn't make sense to me to throw that away for something so… intangible."

Arthur was looking at his hands, seeming to listen, but saying nothing. Vivanne went on quietly and poignantly, "Beyond that, I don't want Clarisse to be lonely, Arthur. She's so…inside of herself sometimes…I've always worried that no one was going to invest the time that it would take to get to know her and see how wonderful she really is. I wasn't being dramatic when I said the boys her age don't understand her. They don't."

She shrugged her shoulders after a moment and said, "I honestly think, King or not, it would be someone like Rupert, someone older and more thoughtful, who would take the time to really get to know her and understand her; appreciate her complexity; maybe even coax her out of her shell. She'd have a companion through life."

Arthur looked at her, digesting what she was saying. She added, hoping it didn't sound desperate, "You never know, Arthur, the two of them might fall in love with each other."

Arthur chuckled sadly. "Wouldn't that be…an astounding bit of luck."

Vivianne sighed tiredly, knowing that no matter what she said, no matter how right even he thought she was, Arthur was never going to be okay with this. She said wearily, "Look at it this way, Arthur: maybe they'll hate each other. All of this will be moot and you will remain the most important man in Clarisse's life."

Her words hung in the air as they rode the rest of they way home in silence.


	9. The Bearer of Much Needed Confidence

Hello again! Sorry for the slight delay in posting, but, real life can be so intrusive sometimes.

I did want to take a sec to specifically thank Petriebird18 and Dragoneye for your suggestion and offer, respectively. Petriebird, thanks for the reminding me of the suit of armor…I'm not sure I would have remembered that, and yes, I think I can see a way to get that in here somewhere. Dragoneye, you wouldn't believe how much I need an editor sometimes, so I may take you up on your offer as a pre-reader.

As for the rest of you reading my story, thanks for taking the time to both read write back. Rest assured, even the smallest of suggestions are being tossed around in my head (even if it takes me weeks to get around to thanking you for them; just ask Petriebird and Dragoneye!)

Anyhoo, as you know, only the storyline is mine. Hope to enjoy!

9

BANG!

Clarisse jumped, the glasses that had been poised to be placed on her nose suddenly flying, as a pile of books came unceremoniously crashing down onto the table she was sitting at in the student union. A familiar somebody crashed into the chair beside her a second later.

"You sneak!" Natalie hissed, looking outraged at her long time friend.

Clarisse stared, wide-eyed, her heart pounding from Natalie's very dramatic entrance. "What? Why…?"

Natalie whispered severely, "Why didn't you tell me your parents met with The Royals?"

Clarisse immediately felt, and probably looked, caught. She had told no one; not even Natalie, her closest friend since she was eight. She had felt terribly guilty, but assuaged herself by vowing to tell Nat the minute there was something to tell, one way or the other. Somehow, though not surprisingly now that Clarisse thought about it, Natalie found out from other sources. The volume on palace related chatter had been cranked up considerably in the last few weeks and she should have known someone would find out about her parents' invitation and spill the beans. Clarisse attempted to explain, "Oh…Natal…"

Natalie shushed her impatiently, waving her hand in Clarisse's face, "Pfff…not now, I'll ream you over that in a second. More importantly. I have news." She paused dramatically, eyebrows raised. "News that concerns you, sweetie."

Clarisse stared at her wary but curious. She said cautiously, "What news?"

Natalie, leaned in, elbows on knees, and intensely stared into her friend's eyes, "Four messengers from the palace were dispatched this afternoon on the Prince's behalf." She waited a moment before saying, "One of them is on his way to your house."

Clarisse held tight to her reaction. Not only because she didn't know how to react, but mostly because she wanted to keep any palace-talk as quiet as possible, especially in the student union. The sheer amount of chatter that flew through the student union on a slow day was mind boggling, but in the weeks since the palace had sent its tentacles out into the masses and snatched parents for meetings with the Prince, well… the student union had all the decorum of floor of the New York Stock Exchange. Rumors were flying, reputations were being bandied about – made and destroyed – catty comments were being hurled like hand grenades, friendships were being demolished.

Every girl's insecurities were out in force; Clarisse had heard overheard a few absolutely brutal rants about classmates whose parents were rumored to have been summoned to the palace. She had come upon a different girl crying her eyes out in the bathroom over some palace-related issue two days in a row. Considering Natalie knew her parents had met 'the Royals', as she called them, Clarisse assumed others must know and she cringed at the thought of what the more sour grapes on the grapevine must be saying about her. She did not want to find herself using industrial grade toilet paper to blow her nose any time soon so she kept herself very much in check, a difficult task under the laser-like stare Natalie was leveling at her.

Clarisse said slowly, rearranging herself in her chair, "Well…that doesn't necessarily mean…"

Natalie shushed Clarisse again and said, "Yes, it does. Why else would the palace send your family a hand delivered message, just days – apparently _four_ days, for the love of Pete…", Natalie paused, eyeing Clarisse significantly to remind her she was in for a tongue lashing for not sharing, and then continued, "…four days after they met with the Royal Renaldi's?"

Clarisse furrowed her brow, and having no answer for Natalie's question, scrambled for something to say that at least sounded strong, "How do you know about the messengers? I don't know anything!"

Natalie said confidentially, "You know Amelie Kent, yes?" Clarisse nodded and Natalie continued conspiratorially, "Well, her cousin – Lance, I think is his name – he is dating a girl who used to go to school with a guy whose sister's husband's cousin works for the Palace, or some damn thing." Employing one of her trademark dramatic pauses, she let that information sink in before continuing, eyebrows raised, "He works in the mail room! Which, of course, includes the messengers." She was nodding knowingly at Clarisse as if to say, 'enough said'.

Clarisse stared at her friend intently, processing the info, but saying nothing, so Natalie further explained, "Apparently, Amelie's parents were invited to the palace, but when Amelie hadn't heard anything back, she had her minions check the source in the mail room. He coughed up the four names who were on the list – a list that came directly from the Prince's staff, mind you – and she wasn't on it. I happen to have Biology with one of the girls that Amelie cried to after she found out; Sheila Cummings, do you know her? Well, I don't know Sheila that well, but enough to shoot the breeze; apparently she'd just come from talking to Amelie and couldn't keep something like this secret so she blabbed the whole story, complete with the four names. I don't think she would have told me if she'd known you and I were such good friends, but like I said, she and I aren't close."

Natalie stopped talking, but Clarisse was beyond responding. She was very confused. She had been sure she was out of contention. When her parents had returned from the palace they looked so glum that she didn't even approach them about it. It wasn't until two days later that she wound up having separate conversations with them; her mother said things 'went nicely' and was relatively optimistic that they would know something soon. Her father said, 'Fine. Things went fine' but it was hard to know what was in someone else's mind. It seemed strange, especially now, that she hadn't been more aggressive about finding out exactly what happened, but they seemed so…lukewarm about the whole subject that she'd assumed things hadn't gone well and they were just trying to prepare her for not hearing from the palace.

Now here was Natalie with – admittedly – a chaotic chain of evidence, but she'd never known Natalie to be wrong; not about something she was willing to repeat. Clarisse slowly leaned back in her chair, eyes focused out the windows of the union, knowing Natalie was watching her carefully. Stalling, she asked absently, "Who are the other three girls?"

Knowing Clarisse was stalling, Natalie said quickly, not removing her eyes from Clarisse's face, "Vanessa Simone, Elizabeth Channing and someone named Sophia Maneras. I don't know her; you?"

Clarisse shook her head silently, still looking through the windows. She tore her eyes away and focused on Natalie, who was clearly waiting for a reaction. Clarisse took a deep breath, sat up straight, retrieved her glasses from across the table where they'd landed upon Nat's sensational entrance and put them on her nose. Looking over them and folding her hands, reproachfully she deadpanned, "So,…you didn't make the list?"

Natalie blinked for a minute, actually about to explain that she was engaged and that's why she hadn't even been eligible for the list, when she looked at Clarisse's exaggeratedly disapproving look; a look Natalie had seen those rare times when Clarisse poked fun at her reputation for being 'juuuust' a tad serious. Natalie shook her head marveling that Clarisse, who more than earned her reputation as a prig, responded to this momentous news with a semi self-deprecating joke. Of course it was also a Natalie-deprecating joke, but, a joke was a joke.

She started to laugh quietly, still shaking her head. She leaned back in her chair while Clarisse smiled and relaxed in her own seat. After a few moments of silence, never taking her eyes off Clarisse, who was pondering the glasses in her hands, Natalie said, "Clarisse. You're going to be Queen."

Clarisse's looked up and shook her head quickly, a blasphemed look on her face. "What…? Good Lord, Nat. Don't say things like that out loud!"

She stared at Clarisse intensely as if trying to confirm her own prediction that Clarisse would be wearing the crown of Genovia. She said steadily, seriously, "No, I mean it. This is going to happen. It's what you were meant to do with your life."

The look on Natalie's face stopped Clarisse from voicing what she thought were reasonable arguments as to why she wasn't necessarily a lock for the job. Natalie was, after all, her dear friend and just a touch biased, but what Clarisse saw in her face was not the usual 'you are my friend and I think you're fabulous' smoke-blowing. There was such a sincerely convinced look on Nat's face that Clarisse was startled.

Clarisse said bewildered, "What do you mean?"

Natalie said simply, "Just what I said…it's what you were meant to do with your life." She paused a moment, and continued earnestly, leaning forward, elbows back on her knees, "Don't you think so? Doesn't this feel… right? I mean, when I heard that your name was on the list…it was as if something blurry suddenly came into complete focus."

Clarisse considered that statement. She was…appalled, actually…to realize that part of herself knew exactly what Natalie meant. When her parents came home less than ecstatic about their meeting with the Prince, her reaction was neither despair nor relief, but skepticism. Skepticism that something had gone _so_ wrong that she wouldn't at least get a meeting with the man. She just did not believe it would end right there.

She had spent the last week wallowing in how difficult, frightening and outside of her abilities the responsibility of being Genovia's Queen, not to mention Rupert's wife, would be. She had labored uncomfortably under the stress of being considered for the role, wishing she could just run away. She had a million reasons why she should, would, and could never become the Queen of anything. Yet, deep down, a part of her was diligently preparing herself for the next step in becoming Queen. She didn't know why, all she knew was that there was a very small, very quiet part of herself that believed all of this would happen.

Of course, she could never say such a thing, so settled for, "Oh, I don't know, Natalie. There are dozens of ways this could all turn out to be for naught."

Natalie took a breath and leaned back, contemplating how to tackle Clarisse's artful deflection. She knew Clarisse well enough to know that her hesitation about all of this was not coming from an inferiority complex. As genuinely modest as she was, Clarisse knew her strengths and knew why she was being considered for this job. No, Natalie had done this dance with Clarisse before. Clarisse was looking for reassurance that her own thinking was in line with someone else's. She wanted Natalie to make the argument to her; a tactic Clarisse had employed since they were kids; a tactic that might come in handy as, say, someone who ruled a country, Natalie thought wryly.

Natalie thought for a moment, knowing she'd have to use the analytical brain that made her one of the most promising math majors in school; Clarisse would never be swayed by something so vague as a gut feeling. Natalie decided to begin with the what she thought was the most pertinent information, the only information that Clarisse didn't have until Natalie arrived – the competition. She said slowly, "Well, let's think about this. As far as the other candidates are concerned, the only one that stands as any kind of competition is Ms. Maneras and that's only because we don't know anything about her. Vanessa and Elizabeth are wonderful and are actually on my short list of bridesmaids – don't tell anyone that, I still have some culling to do and am still iffy about Vanessa – but seriously, when you get right down to it, aren't they just the same girl with different hair color?"

Clarisse laughed in surprise when she heard Natalie's dismissive assessment of the two girls they had known for years. She sighed disapprovingly and said, "Natalieeeee…"

Natalie rolled her eyes and said mockingly, "Clariiiiiiiiiiise…."

They both smiled and for a moment said nothing, each lost in their own thoughts. Natalie, always the one to cut to the chase, decided to just lay it all out, "Look, can we just be honest here for a moment? Vanessa and Liz are incredibly 'appropriate' choices; they're both smart, cultured, well liked and, most importantly, well-behaved. Lovely to look at and delightful to know, perfectly understandable candidates that would make adequate Queens every day of the week, twice on Sunday."

Natalie paused as Clarisse nodded her agreement. Nat bluntly went in for the kill, "But we _both_ know that you have it all over the two of them; from every angle; brains, poise, sophistication, good judgement, temperament…"

Natalie was heartened that Clarisse said nothing, she didn't disagree, even out of that annoyingly inconvenient sense of fairness she possessed. Natalie continued, "Now…you know and I know that as soon as I leave here, I'm going to scour the grapevine to find out as much about Ms. Maneras as I can by the end of the day, but truly, Clarisse, I'm not worried. I can't think of anyone who could take this away from you."

Clarisse sat quietly for a moment looking at her closest confidante idly wondering if Natalie weren't engaged, would Clarisse have even made the final four, when Natalie chirpped, 'Unless, of course, this Maneras broad is really pretty. Then you're royally screwed."

Ah, yes, the fatal flaw in Natalie's royal resume: her mouth. Clarisse said coolly, "Oh, well, that's very nice. Thank you."

Natalie said, delighted, "See? That was a very queen-ly 'we are not amused' kind of reaction. You were born to do this!"

Clarisse laughed but was shaking her head. "I thank you for your unbridled confidence, but I suspect there is more to the job than sounding 'queen-ly'. For that matter, there's more to all of this than just the resume, at least from now on. That may have gotten me to this point, but now it's all about…the 'intangibles'. And we both know I'm not a master of the intangibles."

Natalie knew this was coming. She said wearily, "Clarisse, are you seriously having an attack of the 'boys don't like me'-s?"

Clarisse squirmed, embarrassed at how Natalie phrased it, but frankly, yes, she _was_ having an attack of the 'boys don't like me'-s. They didn't! She said, slightly hurt, "Well, when you say it like that it just sounds silly."

Natalie, trying to nip this train of thought in the bud, said, "Well, that's because it is silly. Please, _please_ tell me that you are not trying to predict how Prince Rupert Renaldi – a grown man of 31 years old – might react to you based on the fact that the stammering, knock-kneed dips we are forced to socialize with are intimidated by you. Please, tell me you are not doing that."

Clarisse sighed and said, "Nooo, of course I'm not doing that! Not if you're not going to let me, anyway."

Natalie launched into her defense of Clarisse, to Clarisse, "Look, this situation is a whole new can of worms for you. His Highness is not going to be afraid of you or nervous around you. He's staring straight into the face of becoming King in the very near future…you and your brainy-ness and your weird-for-your-age-composure' is not going to knock him sideways. He is going to _want_ to find those things when he gets to know you. All those things about you that have the blockheads around here turning tail are the things that Rupert is going to appreciate. That's what I meant when I said this was what you were meant to do with your life – this moment is where you shine."

Clarisse smiled. She liked the way that sounded. Still, she had a point to make. She said, "All I'm saying is that, on paper, His Highness must think all four of us are qualified to be Queen, or we wouldn't have made it to this point. No, _this_ stage, _this_ meeting is for the role of wife, and that requires a much less… learnable set of skills. It's so subjective…he'll be going on instinct, feeling, attraction..."

Natalie nodded and said simply, as if stating that the sky was blue, "Granted, but taking all of that into account, I still don't know anyone who can compare to you, sweetie."

Clarisse just stared at her friend, deeply affected by Natalie's confidence in her. She blinked a couple of times, finding herself absurdly close to tears.

Natalie quickly moved to hug Clarisse and whispered happily in her ear, "You just let yourself be you, Clarisse, and a King will ask you to be his Queen."

Suddenly, Gillian LaConte bounced by and said, "What's all this girls? Bad news or good?"

They broke apart and Clarisse quickly composed herself, blinking her tears away furiously, as the always smooth Natalie said, "Hi, Gilly. Yes, good news. Nothing but very good news."

Gillian sat down eagerly and said, "Oh, I love good news. So…out with it. Why are we so happy?"

Clarisse looked at Natalie, terrified for a moment that she would blurt out the whole story, when Natalie said sweetly with a wink toward her dear friend, "Well, Clarisse just agreed to be my Maid of Honor and promised to wear any hideous dress I want, no matter how vile the color."

Gillian said warmly, looking between the two, "Oh, that is good news!"

Relieved with Natalie's discretion, and happy about the request she managed to slip in, Clarisse said, "Yes, it is. What would be even better news would be if we could find something only a little hideous in…oh, I don't know, maybe…purple?"


	10. Dread and Nerves

Hi again! Here is chapter 10! (I think…)

I'm having fun writing this, but I must admit I keep getting bogged down in the different paths this story can go. I'm getting to the point where I have to decide, but I'm having commitment issues! Truth be told, I'm only about a chapter ahead of all of you.

Rest assured, I will keep the updates coming because, as I say, I'm having a good time writing this.

Now for the business, I don't own these characters (or all of the characters, anyway. Basically, I don't own the King and Queen.)

Have a fun read and tell me what you think.

-----

Rupert regarded himself in the mirror for the last time before he was to make his way down to the study to meet the third of the four lovelies he had invited to the palace. He was uncharacteristically nervous about this meeting, mostly because of how the previous two meetings had gone. Not that they had been disastrous, really, but more … disappointing. Which was somehow worse.

Satisfied with his appearance, he somewhat grumpily left the safety of his rooms to go and face the music. He shook his head, thinking how confident he had once been in his choices. He thought he'd had it down to a science. He selected four women for different, but equally compelling reasons. Two of them were 'safe' choices. He'd actually met their parents before the marriage discussions and had a very clear idea of the type of woman each of them were. He was confident that, should he decide to marry either one of them, there wouldn't be a hint of controversy. Both would pass muster with his parents, parliament and the people of Genovia as a suitable Queen and he assumed he would find nothing about either of them that would make him think he couldn't live with either of them as his wife.

The two remaining ladies were less expected choices. Sophia was the 'wildcard'. The most accomplished of the four women, he wanted to meet her simply because her formidable resume could not be ignored. She was a remarkably bright woman who would do more than just 'satisfy' the role of queen. That was what led Rupert to overlook the rather dry sit-down he'd had with her parents. Even they seemed so enamored with their daughter's intellectual acumen that they didn't give Rupert a real sense of who she was as a human being. Hence, the title wildcard; he didn't know who he'd be meeting.

Clarisse was his 'dark-horse'. At first blush, she wasn't the obviously dominant candidate, but she was the most well-rounded of the four. She was clearly bright and accomplished, leading Rupert to believe that she could more than handle the job of Queen. Beyond that, her parents gave him the impression she was a warm, caring, interesting woman, thus giving Rupert hope that she could be more than just a palatable wife.

Confident he had made truly inspired selections, he decided that he would meet first with the more impressive of his 'safe' choices – Elizabeth – as a way to ease himself into the process. Then would come Sophia, she of the powerful intellect. After Sophia , the ever intriguing Clarisse, and, easing himself out of the process, he would finish with the less compelling of his two dependables – Vanessa.

Halfway through the process and he found himself completely derailed. Elizabeth was so nervous that she literally stammered her way through the first half hour of their tea together, which didn't speak well as to her poise under pressure, a rather essential trait for a Queen. When she did finally calm down enough to actually make conversation, Rupert realized that he preferred her nervous. She was at least interesting when she was falling apart. In her natural state, she was boring as all hell. He couldn't marry boring.

Sophia was a rare find in that she seemed more human in her photograph than in person. In all fairness, as unsmiling as she was, she was a fiercely intelligent and articulate woman whom Rupert would hire as a senior member of his policy staff in a minute, but her social skills were… wanting. She interrupted him more than once, blithely questioned the intelligence of a member of parliament – a big no-no for a Queen – and, the deepest cut of all, laughed at exactly none of his jokes. A huge no-no as Rupert's wife. The royal life could be enough of a grind without slogging through it with a spouse who had no sense of humor.

The study loomed ominously ahead as he reached the bottom of the stairs. Frankly, the pressure on Clarisse Mignionette to restore his trust in his own judgement was enormous. He hoped beyond hope that she didn't turn out to be a disappointment. He had been actually looking forward to meeting this girl and if she turned out boring or humorless or dumb or crazy…well, he was simply going to be the first bachelor King in Genovian history and his parents were just going to have to get used to it.

As he looked through the curtain on one of the French doors of the study, he regarded his dark-horse. She was looking at one of the paintings on the wall, her hands calmly clasped in front of her. She didn't look particularly nervous, which was good. She didn't look like she'd say impolitic things about the country's present lawmakers either, but he didn't want to get his hopes up. He noted she was taller than he'd expected her to be. He hoped and prayed that was the only thing he got wrong about her.

'Wrath, sloth… pride,…uhm…gluttony,…avarice, … envy,…_ damn_…what's the last one…?'

Clarisse was standing in front of the large painting that hung over the long antique table on the left side of the room. She had only deposited herself in front of it because she didn't want to sit down and crease her dress and because she didn't want to appear wandering aimlessly when his Highness came through the door. In reality she was wrestling with her nerves, trying to get them under control by distracting herself with lists. It worked like a charm when she was a child and it was both working and not working now. On the one hand, she was deep in thought over that last deadly sin but the fact that she couldn't come up with it didn't bode well.

'Alright, forget those.' She thought to herself impatiently. She began again. 'January: Garnet. February: Amethyst. March: uh…_damn_…April: Diamond. May: Emerald. June: …uh…June:…June:…June:…'

She had at least managed to get the muscles in her shoulder blades to relax enough that they no longer hurt. She kept asking herself exactly why she was so nervous. What did she think was going to happen? They would meet and would either hit it off or not. If they didn't hit it off, then it wasn't meant to be. If they did…well, she didn't exactly know what that meant.

She shook out her arms a bit, trying to get the blood flow back to her hand. She was still a wee bit tense if the white marks on her right wrist were any indication. She took a breath, trying to ease the tension in her body and clear her mind. Clearly, for the occasion, a list of 12 birthstones was too ambitious. She shook her hair out and reset her posture. Calmly she said to herself, 'Dopey, Doc, Grumpy, Happy… Sneezy … Sleepy,…oh… frig…'

She just felt so absurd being here. Was there anyone else on the planet at that moment doing what she was doing? Was there anyone, man or woman, waiting in a study of a palace for some sovereign to come in and decide if he or she was marriage material? She was hard pressed to believe that there was. She was only slightly consoled to know that there were three other girls, two of which she actually knew, who already had been, or were going to be, in this same room facing the same bizarre situation.

Natalie's instinct on which snippets of gossip to ignore and which to repeat seemed to be spot on. Not long after Gilly LeConte sat down with them, Vanessa descended upon them like a tornado, frantically spewing forth the news that her mother had just driven to school, royal invitation in hand. Like ripples on a lake, the news hit the surrounding tables until the whole room was abuzz.

Clarisse had stared at Natalie, paralyzed. She wasn't sure of the etiquette for such a circumstance. She didn't want to appear smug by saying nothing, but didn't want to steal Vanessa's thunder. Discretion being the better part of valor and all that, plus the fact that Clarisse could still claim deniability – no one had yet raced to school to tell her of any invitation – Clarisse stayed mum.

Once the initial melee died down a bit, Gilly, Nat and Clarisse made a quick getaway only to run smack into Elizabeth coming from what looked like riding lessons, in tears, having just spoken to her own mother. She was clearly overcome, by happiness or fright they didn't know, but she said she just needed to get home and would talk to them later.

After that mini-melee, Gilly stunned the two of them by revealing that her own parents had met with the Prince, but didn't think anything would come of it. Gilly said she was relieved that the moment had come for the final stage because the pressure was getting to her. Understanding her sentiment, Clarisse blurted out that her parents, too, had met the Royals. Gilly was thrilled and said she wouldn't be surprised if Clarisse got an invite. Nat shared her rumor and after promising to call them both the minute she knew something, Clarisse went home.

Sure enough, as she got to the house she noted her father's car was in the drive and her mother was waiting at the door, looking weepy. After surviving her record breaking third melee in an hour, Clarisse learned she was to meet the Prince two days hence at 4:00 p.m. for tea.

So…here she was. Where was he? It had to be after 4:00 p.m. Surely she had been standing here for at least an hour?

No sooner was she about to start listing the seven wonders of the world when the door opened and a voice said, "Ms. Mignionette?"

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(By the way, the last of the 7 deadlys is 'lust' and the final dwarf is 'bashful' – didn't want to drive you crazy by leaving you hanging on those if you couldn't think of them. Interesting ones for Clarisse to forget, eh? As for the birthstones, I honestly don't know what March's or June's are and am too lazy to look them up, so that's why I stopped where I did on that list.)


	11. Harmony

Alright everyone, here it is…the meeting! What an ordeal!

Just let me say, I'm not a fan of cliffhangers, but I didn't want to wait forever before posting something. What you read a few days ago was the beginning of what I thought would be one big chapter about 'the meeting', but when I realized how far away from finishing it I was, I lopped off what I'd managed to write and made it an obnoxious cliffhanger. I do apologize…it was a passive-aggressive manipulative thing to do. Or writer's block – it depends on how generous you feel like being.

Thanks to the usual suspects of reviewers - you keep me thinking and considering new ideas (Like not using cliffhangers...got it).

Anyway, hope it was worth the wait

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"You don't like pears?" Clarisse said, teacup frozen mid journey to her lips, genuinely stunned.

Rupert shook his head laughing slightly, "No. Never have."

She looked at him, trying to gauge if he was joking, but he seemed sheepish enough to be sincere. She bit her lip trying not laugh that the future King of the pear capital of Europe hated pears, and said sympathetically, "That must make for some very difficult state dinners."

He said wearily, "You have no idea how many pear and cheese desserts I've eaten against my will. When I think of how many more of them are in my future, all I can say is thank God I like cheese."

She laughed and said, "Well, perhaps I can talk to my father. He works for the Ministry of Agriculture, you know. Maybe he can change the national fruit to…what's your favorite fruit?"

He said strongly, "I love kumquats."

She blinked. Again, unable to tell if he was kidding, she decided it didn't matter and said slowly, "Oh, well, … are you really going to be able to have any fun presiding over a 'Kumquat Ball' every year?"

Her dubious tone of voice as she said 'Kumquat Ball' made him laugh. He said, "Ah, yes, I see your point." He said hopefully, "Bananas are a favorite of mine."

Neither one of them said it out loud, but the words 'Banana Ball' floated through their heads and they both chortled a bit.

She said, "Well, rest assured, I won't tell anyone that you don't like our beloved national fruit."

Feeling expansive, Rupert impulsively asked if she'd like a tour of the gardens. She was agreeable and as they began walking he pointed out particularly interesting architectural features – otherwise known as the one's he remembered – and chatted lightly. Rupert was feeling much more like himself, Clarisse having unknowingly saved him from a crisis of confidence in his own judgement. He was enjoying his afternoon immensely.

Almost from the start, their time together seemed less like an interview and more like two people spending a sociable afternoon getting to know one another, even when discussing more impersonal subjects: politics, school, general ideology. He was not surprised to find her intelligent and capable, but it was her demeanor while discussing these well worn topics that spoke most strongly to Rupert. She was articulate, she listened intently when he spoke – rather than just waiting for her turn to speak (Sophia being credited with prompting him to add _that_ trait to his list of criteria), and in the few instances where they saw a particular point differently, she managed to disagree without seeming to arguing with him; a quality that, in his experience, could not be taught (again, Sophia leaped to mind). And blessedly, if she was nervous (Why hello, Elizabeth), she hid it well. On a more personal level, she told charming stories, seemed sincerely interested when he regaled her with his own tales, she smiled easily, she was inquisitive and solicitous…all in all, she was delightful, comfortable company.

As they walked together, he snatched little glances at her. Now that she was out from behind a cup of tea he could see that she was rather nicely put together. She was tall but not statuesque, thin but shapely. She was blond and while he usually preferred brunettes, her coloring set off her very blue eyes. Clarisse had beautiful blue eyes. It sounded like the most tired of clichés, but she did; he was struck by them immediately.

Watching her now, he tried to decide if she was beautiful. He'd been going back and forth on this question all afternoon, to no conclusion. She had a weird sort of beauty – it was subliminal…or was on a time-release or…something. It didn't hit you right between the eyes, it was subtle. It occurred to him that, oddly, she was at her most stunning when she wasn't smiling. The combination of her smile and the freckles that were sprinkled across her nose made her look 'cute'…and made him feel old. Well, older. Yes, older.

He didn't know how much weight to put to it but decided, for now, while it was slightly unsettling, it was by no means fatal. Putting the issue aside for the moment, he decided to ask Clarisse what he'd thought was a simple, straightforward question that, nonetheless, seemed to stymie both his former interviewees. Elizabeth was silent for at least two minutes before he just asked another, easier question and Sophia looked at him as if he lapsed into Greek.

He said, casually, "So, tell me a bit about your life. Aside from school, work and being asked to have tea at the palace, what is occupying your time these days?"

She smiled slightly, considering his question for a moment, and said, "Well, my friend Natalie is getting married in September and asked me to be her Maid of Honor. From what she tells me, _she_ is going to be occupying a lot of my time in the near future."

He said smiling, "Ah, well, I was my brother Etienne's best man, but all I had to do was ensure sure his tuxedo was buttoned properly and make a toast that wouldn't anger my mother. Though, remembering all that my sister-in-law was worried about, I imagine a Maid of Honor has a longer to-do list."

She said, "Yes, things always seem to be a bit more intense on the bride's side of the aisle."

He said, "So, who is your friend? Would I know her family?"

She said, "Natalie Tate? Her father Michael is head of the Mathematics Department at The University of Pyrus."

He said immediately and without shame, "Oh, I avoid math at all costs, so I'm sure I don't know the man."

Clarisse laughed and said, "Oh, mathematicians aren't so scary. He's a very nice man. And a wonderful teacher. Natalie herself is a mathematics major at Genovia University, with a 4.0 grade point average, no less."

He said, "Ah, another smart girl; they travel in pairs, obviously."

Clarisse said deprecatingly, "Well, truth be told, when you're a student, it's terribly handy to have a friend who's a math whiz. It's rather like having a dentist in the family."

He laughed. She said with a smile, "Algorithms or not, I'd be lost without Natalie. I'm honored to be her Maid of … Honor." She chuckled again.

He said jokingly, "Well, keep me in mind if you find yourself without a proper escort for the wedding."

Lightly, she said, "Yes, I'll be sure to send you a 'save the date' card."

He looked sidelong at her for a moment as they walked along the path. He hadn't planned on speaking of the proverbial 600 pound gorilla in the room, he hadn't even gotten close to discussing it with either Elizabeth or Sophia, but he was curious about what Clarisse thought. More than that, if any subject was likely to rattle her it would be this one, so it stood to been an interesting test.

He said thoughtfully, watching her carefully, "So, what does Ms. Tate think of all this?"

She looked over at him and said, " 'All this'? You mean_…'The Invitation'_?"

He smiled and nodded, "'_The Invitation'_, yes."

She said, "Well, not surprisingly, she's…fascinated. Excited. Absorbed. Astounded. Curious. Pick an adjective." She finished with a smile.

He nodded for a moment. A picture started forming in his mind of this very calm young girl walking beside him, talking to her best friend about how she'd been invited to the palace and he realized Elizabeth, Sophia and Vanessa must have also had similar conversations. Remembering his own experience with his peers when he was as young as these women were, he continued knowingly, "I take it this whole process has been the talk of the University?"

She said openly, "Oh, yes, very much so. It's not everyday that the palace makes its presence known quite so directly, after all."

At her comment it occurred to him just how little he'd thought about the actual day to day disruption his 'invitations' might have caused. Having taken the time to broach the subject with Clarisse, he was beginning to really see how insinuating himself into the lives of these women might have created wall to wall chaos for them; something that probably should have been apparent to him when he met Elizabeth and saw how completely shaken she was. And how unsmiling Sophia was.

Clarisse, however, was made of sterner stuff, apparently. Nothing about her outward demeanor would indicate she might be dealing with something even remotely as tense as being the subject of rumors and speculation by everyone around her. By all appearances, things were as they always had been for her.

He ventured gingerly, "I hope my 'invitation' hasn't wreaked too much havoc in your life."

She said, tactfully but with humor, "Well, I admit, at first it caused a bit of upheaval; mostly internally. Though, God knows, my parents will never be the same again."

She continued after a moment, more quietly, "I've grown more comfortable with the whole 'process', as you call it. The only person I've spoken to at length about this has been Natalie, so it hasn't been my every conversation with every person I see; that has helped keep things from getting too overwhelming. Really, when I think of it, my everyday comings and goings haven't been effected much at all."

She paused and said almost as an afterthought, "Though, after today I imagine that will change."

Rupert hesitated a moment, considering her comment. She was exactly right. This was the point where things were going to get much more complicated. And much more public. He'd conducted these interviews at a breakneck pace specifically because knew he only had so much time to make a decision before the press got hold of names and started digging into backgrounds. He didn't want to be caught with 18 young women still in the running when the press got wind of the story so he'd met at least three sets of parents each day in the first stage, and allotted himself only two days for the four young women he'd wanted to meet. Vanessa, in fact, was slated to attend a light supper with him at 7:00 p.m. that very evening. After today, keeping the press at bay would be unrealistic.

Clarisse – and Elizabeth, Sophia and Vanessa for that mater – must already be dealing with the private citizen's version of the press: the dreaded grapevine – a staple of every neighborhood and school. Again, when thinking of his own experiences at school, he could specifically remember people who'd gotten into a froth about something as ridiculous as who wasn't asked to a mixer. This situation – communications from the palace, meetings with the Royal Family – must have greater Pyrus, and specifically, the University, fairly exploding with talk.

Quietly, he stated rather than asked, "People know you are here, then; that you are among those asked to meet with me about a possible marriage."

She nodded simply, "Yes."

He looked at her for a moment waiting for something else; a nervous laugh, a shaky sigh, the restless wringing of hands, something to indicate that the past days had been distressing. Yet, she said nothing. Her expression didn't change, she kept walking sedately beside him, eerily calm. She seemed, in fact, to be waiting for him to say something.

He thought of a number of things to say, things like 'Are you sure you want this', 'Doesn't all of this scare you?' 'Does anything?'. After a pause he simply stated the obvious, "You seem to be handling it all rather well."

She looked at him, and said reasonably, "Well, you are the Crown Prince, after all. It's not as if the public nature of your life was lost on me. From the beginning I knew any involvement on my part in your search, no matter how small, would be public domain."

He nodded mutely, unable to argue with her logic, but slightly disconcerted by her poise. The pressure of being judged by the monarchy of one's nation, sight unseen up to this point, was vulnerable enough a position. Add to that the editorializing of your peers, peers who were not being considered for the job and were probably none too generous in their opinions, and what you have is enormously stressful situation. If you survive all of that, the prize you get is being taken from your previously private existence and sentenced to a lifetime of that same unrelenting scrutiny, only now from millions of people who don't even know you.

It was not everyone who could handle the prospect of that kind of strain; again, Elizabeth leaped to mind and he felt guilty for being so unforgiving of her nervousness. As he walked beside the decidedly not-cracking-under-the pressure Clarisse he realized that Elizabeth's reaction was the more…understandable. Clarisse's bearing was admirable…but unnerving.

They had been walking in silence for a bit, each lost in their own thoughts when Clarisse said evenly, "Don't get me wrong, the prospect of being publicly dissected while everyone offers their opinion of me and speculates whether you made a smart choice even to consider me is… absolutely terrifying."

He exhaled a laugh and said, "Oh, thank God, Clarisse."

She looked over at him, eyebrows furrowed, not getting the joke. Reading the confusion on her face Rupert said, "I was beginning to think it would take kryptonite to scare you. It was a bit…intimidating to think you were born without any silly human foibles like… dread, worry, insecurity, crabbiness. All the things I embrace in myself, you understand."

She shook her head, looking even more baffled and said, "Hardly." She continued after a moment and ventured a compliment, "You certainly don't come across as someone with any dread, worry, insecurities or…what was the other one?"

He supplied helpfully, "Crabbiness."

She said, "Yes, Crabbiness."

He said, "Well, you've only just met me. I'm rather like an onion with many layers."

As if to say, 'I rest my case', she said smiling, "As am I." She paused before saying, "Although, I don't know if I like thinking of myself as an onion."

He thought for a moment and said, "A rose…with many petals."

He was amused to notice that he'd caught her off guard with his comment and she seemed, if only momentarily, to be at a loss as to what to say. 'Note to self' he thought, 'Quickest route to rattling Clarisse: Compliments.' He should have known.

She regained her footing and smiled as she said, "Thank you. I do like that better."

They were walking back towards the palace, having made the rounds of the gardens, when something occurred to him. He said, "If people know I asked to meet you, then you must know the names of who else received invitations, yes?"

She paused for a split second and admitted, "Yes."

Rupert asked, "Are you acquainted with any of them?"

He'd intended the question to be casual and in the spirit of making conversation on their way back to the palace, but as soon as it was out of his mouth he realized how loaded a question it actually was.

He hurriedly backtracked, saying, "Oh, Clarisse, please don't feel obliged to answer that. It just occurred to me that you might know one of the other women and simply asked out of curiosity. I apologize. I didn't mean to put you in an awkward position."

She considered him for a moment and said, "Well, I'm not going to offer opinions, but, yes, actually, I do know two of the three."

Two? Forgetting his clumsy question for the moment, he was immediately fascinated. Not only by this illicit glimpse into the life of his candidates, but once again by Clarisse's mature disposition. The more he talked to her, the more complicated her side of things revealed themselves to be, yet she betrayed none of it. The discretion it required, and would continue to require after he made his decision, to negotiate not one but two interpersonal relationships tangled up in this venture was mind boggling. State secrets would certainly be safe with this woman.

Clarisse continued, "I'm friends with Elizabeth and Vanessa."

His old reliables! He definitely owed Elizabeth an engraved apology for all he'd inadvertently put her through. He asked, completely taken in by the intrigue of it all, "Close friends?"

She considered his question for a moment before saying, "Well, we're all on the same 'friendship arc', if you will; connected by Natalie. She met Vanessa at art camp when they were 11 and became friends when they discovered they both lived in Pyrus. Elizabeth and Nat's mother went to school together, and when The Channing's moved back to Pyrus about seven years ago, their mothers' resumed their friendship so Nat and Liz spent a lot of time together. Natalie and I went to school together and when we were eight our teacher paired us to sit together on the bus when we took a field trip to the Public Library. We've been best friends ever since."

He nodded, considering the complications he'd inadvertently introduced along this 'friendship arc'. Not quite knowing what to do, if anything, with this information, he said, "Just to be above board, I've met with Elizabeth, though not with Vanessa."

She nodded calmly, "I know."

She knew. Of course she knew. He wanted to laugh at how off-balance their dynamic was at the moment. Suddenly, he was the one who didn't know what to expect while she was a veritable font of confidential information. He idly wondered if she already _had_ state secrets.

He said, "So…you know. Then you've talked with both of them about this?"

She said, more discretely than he knew, "I saw them both after they'd received their invitations and they told me when they were going to meet you. I hadn't received my invite at that point, though, so I don't know if they know I'm here now. I've not run into them in the last two days."

Reeling from the sheer intricacy of negotiating such a predicament, none of which seemed to give Clarisse a moment's hesitation from what he could tell, he said slowly, "A rather delicate situation."

She laughed a bit and said, "You have no idea."

Noting his inquisitive reaction, she said by way of explanation, "You might want to rescind your invitation to be an escort for Natalie's wedding. She's considering asking them both to be bridesmaids."

He burst out laughing at her outrageous joke. When he noted that she was simply looking at him and smiling, he asked, "You're joking, of course?"

She shook her head 'no' and said, "Don't tell anyone – Natalie still has some culling to do and is iffy about…one of them."

He just said, "Oh, my Good Lord. To be a fly on the wall at those dress fittings." Realizing what he'd just said, "For the conversation, of course. Not…anything else. Nevermind."

They both laughed and continued walking the short distance to the palace in comfortable silence. Rupert made a decision during the time they meandered back and when they'd reached the front entrance of the Palace, he turned to Clarisse, and said suddenly, "I would like to invite you to dinner with my family."

He watched as she silently absorbed this and continued quickly, "You don't have to give me an answer right now."

She nodded and said sincerely, "I'm honored by your invitation."

He said, "I'll contact you in the next day or two, but Clarisse, I want you to understand that you don't have to accept." When she said nothing, looking slightly confused, he clarified with a deep breath, "You were right…things are getting to a point of no return and you need to consider that; not that you haven't already. More than anything, I want you to understand that you do have a choice in this matter. I'm not sure it's clear that you do, but it's an enormous thing that is being asked of you; if you decide that would rather not pursue…this, I personally will understand."

She looked at him for a long moment processing the implications of what he'd said. Finally, she said quietly, "I do appreciate hearing that. Thank you. And I look forward to your invitation."

After a pause, she smiled at him and said, "Once again."

He smiled warmly and said, "Oh, I'm famous for my invitations."

TBC of course


	12. 20 Minutes in Genovia

Hi everyone,

This chapter is a little something I like to call "20 Minutes In Genovia". It's basically a bunch of vignettes staring our principal characters. In a nutshell, this is 10:00 p.m. – ish the night that Clarisse (and Vanessa) have each met the Prince and how everyone is spending their evening discussing everyone's favorite subject. I wanted to wrangle all these characters together at this point so that we all know where each of their head is without dedicating an entire chapter to each of them (heh, heh).

Anyway, thanks for reading and reviewing (Some of you four times in a row, rougueinker. Thank you). As always, suggestions are being taken to heart (I'm looking at you Dragoneye). As to the debate over whether they should fall in love or not, I think the nature of the Clarisse/Rupert relationship will become clearer in the next few chapters.

Please to enjoy…

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"I just spoke to Vanessa; His Highness invited her to tea tomorrow afternoon to meet The Majesties." Natalie said bluntly as she cradled the phone on her shoulder so she could take her earrings off.

Clarisse said sitting down on her bed, "You spoke to Vanessa already? It's only 10 o'clock. What did she do, call you from the palace?"

Nat said, "She wanted to know what I thought she should wear to the tea. Or so she said. Frankly, I think she was fishing to see if I'd talked to you but was afraid to ask."

Clarisse said, "Oh, stop. Why would she be afraid to ask?"

Natalie said dropping her earrings in her jewelry box, "Because she sees you as her only real competition; I can tell by how she deliberately hasn't asked if I've spoken to you. She's afraid I'll tell her that you charmed the stuffing out of Rupey."

Clarisse sighed, but laughed as she said, "Don't call him Rupey. It's disrespectful. Besides I can't possibly take him seriously if you call him that."

Natalie said after a pause, "So…did you charm the stuffing out of him?"

Clarisse said as she leaned back on her bed, "It went very well, I think. He asked me to have dinner with his family, though I don't know when yet."

Natalie was surprised at the optimism in Clarisse's voice rather than the hedging she'd expected. As she crossed to her closet to hang up her blazer, she said, "Dinner…with 'the family'?"

Clarisse attempted to sound casual, but was anxious to know Natalie's take on what Rupert had said. She said, "Yes, he's hoping his sister and his brother and his wife are available for dinner in the next day or two."

Natalie was stunned. She said, blazer and hanger still in hand, "He wants you to have _dinner _with his parents _and_ his siblings?"

Clarisse said shortly, "Yes."

Natalie said definitively, "Well, that's it then, Clarisse. You're in. You're it. You're his choice."

88888888888

If you're ambivalent about her, why did you invite her to tea?" Etienne said as he poured a brandy for himself and his brother.

Rupert said a little defensively, "I'm not ambivalent about her, she's a very intelligent and engaging young woman."

Offering Rupert his drink and settling in the chair across from him, Etienne said, "…_But_…?"

Rupert took a sip and said, "But…I'm slightly more sure about Clarisse. That being said, Vanessa is such a compelling candidate, I can't just discount her without having her meet Mother and Father."

Etienne said, decoding the Rupert-speak, "You're using Vanessa as a credible, but not quite as strong comparison, so that Mom and Dad will accept Clarisse more readily."

Rupert said, "Not at all! Okay, yes."

Etienne laughed and said, "Why all the subterfuge?"

Rupert sighed, trying to clarify his problem, "Because it's hard to explain why I'm more sure about Clarisse. It's…a feeling, I guess. It's just a…sense. I don't know."

Etienne said simply, "You like her."

Rupert said definitively, "Yes, I like her." After a moment he shook his head, "But I can't very well say that to the two of them by way of explanation, particularly Mother. I can see how Vanessa might seem the more obvious choice. Still I think Clarisse is the _better_ choice, but what _makes_ her the better choice is something….elusive; something not found on her resume. One would need to meet her, to spend time with her in order to understand." He looked over at his brother and said, "Do you know what I mean?"

Etienne swallowed his sip of brandy and said, as if what Rupert was saying was the most obvious thing in the world, "Of course I do. They would both make sensible choices for Queen, but beyond the 'job' that she would need to fulfill, you like who Clarisse is a person."

When Rupert said nothing, Etienne attempted to make his point even clearer, "You would want to be friends with Clarisse even without the prospect of marrying her and she becoming Queen. Am I right?"

Rupert said nodding slowly, "Yes. Yes, I would."

Etienne said, "Well, it sounds to me that Vanessa would make a wonderful Queen, but Clarisse would make a wonderful Queen as well as a wonderful companion."

Rupert considered what turned out to be his brother's rather simple take on what he himself had made a complicated situation and said, "Yes, I guess that's it."

Etienne hoisted his glass and said, "Well, then. To Clarisse!"

Rupert raised his glass and took a sip. After a moment he toasted again, "And here's to hoping that the parents see in her what I do."

They toasted. After a beat, they said in unison, "Especially Mother."

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Vivianne looked over at Arthur who was reading, or pretending to read, as she climbed into bed. She adjusted her covers around her and ventured, "Clarisse seemed optimistic."

Not taking his eyes off the book he wasn't reading he said, "Yes, she did."

Vivianne picked up the book sitting on her nightstand, equally intent on not reading and said, "I was surprised. She's usually so fatalistic about things."

Arthur nodded and said, "Yes…yes, she usually is."

Getting absolutely no satisfaction from Arthur, she said provocatively, "Well, it won't be long before we know something. The pace is picking up."

Arthur nodded and merely grunted, eyes fixed on the same page he'd not been reading for the last 15 minutes.

Feeling checkmated, Vivianne finally just said, "I think Prince Rupert is going to ask Clarisse to marry him."

Arthur sighed and tossed the book to the foot of the bed. He turned to his wife and said, "Do you really think so or are you just trying to kill me?"

Viv smiled sympathetically, and said, "Well, you tell me. When was the last time Clarisse sounded as confident about something that centered around her charming a boy. Well, a man. Either. Or both."

Arthur nodded with a sad smile. "We'll know soon, I guess."

Vivianne said, offering some sort of salve to Arthur's fatherly wounds, "It bodes well that she came home so upbeat. She must have genuinely liked him."

Arthur noted that as well when Clarisse came home with a smile and still wasn't sure if he was happy about it. He said, "Yes, she must have had a nice afternoon." Adding insult to injury as far as his heart was concerned, he admitted, "She seems to be looking forward to getting his invitation to meet his family."

Vivianne said gently, "That's a good thing, don't you think? That she's excited about this? That she's not just feeling duty-bound but is actually wanting this to happen?"

Looking over at Viv and nodding, he said strongly, "Yes, that is a very good thing. She should do this because she wants to, not because she thinks she has to. I want her to have whatever it is she wants…"

Vivianne said, knowing exactly what he was thinking, "Yet…?"

He shrugged and said, "I just can't believe she's so excited at the prospect of me giving her away."

Vivianne bit her lip, trying not to laugh at how sadly sentimental he sounded and said as seriously as she could, "Well, I don't think she's thinking of it in that way."

He looked at his wife and read the laughter in her eyes. He said, "I know, I sound like an idiot."

She said laughing, but with compassion, "No, no. Not at all. You sound like the loving father of an only daughter."

He merely sighed and looked away as Viv kissed his cheek and rested her head on his shoulder.

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"He's going to give me fits with his decision making, I tell you. I don't think I'll ever survive his reign." Katherine said heatedly.

Henri wanted to go to bed, but given the state his wife was in, a calming walk around the grounds seemed in order. It being after 10:00 p.m and only 38 degrees notwithstanding.

She continued, "Vanessa I understand, but…Clarisse? Honestly, I would have bet the proverbial farm he'd want us to meet Elizabeth. What happened to Elizabeth?"

Henri said wrapping his coat more tightly around him, "Nervous. Boring."

Katherine said, "I cannot believe that he would so casually disregard such a strong candidate simply because she was nervous. Who wouldn't be nervous?"

Henri said, "Vanessa and Clarisse, apparently. And don't forget boring, dear."

Katherine huffed dismissively , "Oh, please. How can he hope to find out just how fascinating someone is by sharing one afternoon tea?"

Henri looked confused and felt even more so. He said, "Well, that's all the time he's got to give to these meetings, yes? This is the process that we all agreed would work best, yes? To keep out in front of the Press, yes? We _know_ all this, yes?"

Katherine was getting irritated with Henri's refusal to get in line with her complaints, not to mention his habit of throwing the facts in her face. She said vaguely, but with strength, "That is not the point."

Her response not making much sense, Henri shook his head and tried another approach. "Katherine, what is this all about? Do you have Elizabeth Channing in a palace betting pool or something?"

Katherine shook her head, rolling her eyes. She sighed to cover up a creeping smile as she said, "Henri..."

Henri peered over at her and said, "Why all this furor? It certainly can't be a burning affection for Elizabeth, or a disdain for Clarisse – you haven't met either one of them!"

Katherine's stress ratcheting down a bit, she said slowly, "No, no. It's not them. It's…Rupert, actually. Every time I think I know what he's going to do, he does something else. He's driving me mad. I honestly thought, still do feel, that Serena Kimbrough was the perfect woman for Rupert to choose as his wife and Queen, but Rupert didn't even want to meet her parents! I'm still mystified as to why. He _told _me why and I'm mystified."

She shook her head and said, "I never realized how different his instincts are from my own. It's nerve-wracking to know that I have to leave this choice up to him."

Henri nodded in understanding. He felt the same way when Etienne married Sara…ugh. What he told himself then was what he told his wife now, "At some point you have to just trust him. He's an intelligent adult and has to decide for himself what will make him happy."

Katherine said, "I know, I know, he's looking for a wife as well as a Queen. I know. I just hope he finds the right balance. It would be a waste for him to choose someone who simply occupied the role rather than a woman who really took the opportunity to move the country forward. All because she was pretty or funny or whatever it is he's looking for in a wife."

Henri put his arm around his wife and said, "Have faith in him, Katherine. Rupert wants only the best for Genovia, you know that. Only a woman who has its best interests at heart will make Rupert happy – as a Queen and a wife."

Katherine nodded, resignedly. After a moment of consideration, Henri said to her, "Refresh my memory, why was it he didn't want to meet Serena Kimbrough?"

She sighed, "Oh, he said some such nonsense about how he read in her resume that when she was in middle school she spearheaded a campaign to require Genovian schools to serve pears with every meal."

Henri simply looked confused as Katherine shook her head, annoyed all over again at the memory. She said, "Honestly."

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"Well, why didn't you ask Natalie how Clarisse's meeting went?" Lyla Simone said in exasperation.

Vanessa slumped back in her chair and said, "Because, Mom, Natalie is very close to Clarisse. She would never tell me if things went badly. She'd think that she was being disloyal to Clarisse if she did. So, if I'm not going to get an honest answer, I'm not going to ask. I don't want to look to Natalie – or Clarisse – like I'm concerned."

Lyla brought two glasses of warm milk over to the kitchen table and asked, "Are you concerned?"

Vanessa shrugged and said, "Well, she was the Valedectorian, voted Most Likely to Succeed, captain of the debate team and editor of the school paper…let's see, what else…?"

Lyla said, "I see your point. But this isn't just about accomplishments – he wouldn't have needed to meet any of you if that were the case."

Vanessa said, "I know, but it's not like Clarisse is some hideous troll with the manners of a cave woman. She's pretty and people like her; along with everything else she was voted 'Nicest Girl' in our class when we were 13."

Lyla laughed and said, "She's a mannerly, polite girl."

Vanessa said, "Are you going to get around to telling me why I shouldn't be concerned anytime soon?"

Lyla said, putting her hand over her daughter's, "Listen, I like Clarisse very much and no one can take her very impressive and well earned achievements away from her. They are undoubtedly why she was extended an invitation to meet the Prince. But when you take a long hard look at her, that very strong resume is virtually all there is to Clarisse. When it comes to connecting with people, she's not nearly as impressive. She just doesn't come across as a very warm person, especially at first."

Vanessa nodded absently and said, "A brain in a jar. That's what Serena Kimbrough calls her."

Lyla said with a slight laugh, "Well, that's a bit harsh, but essentially, yes. She's very intelligent but… aloof. Some might say cold."

Vanessa said, becoming emboldened, "She is cold. You know, when I saw her at the union with Nat and Gillian and I told them that I'd been invited to the palace, she just stared at me; no hug, no 'Oh, my God'; nothing. She just had this look on her face like I'd said it was raining golf balls in the chem lab. After a minute she gave me this Mona Lisa smile and a quiet, 'Congratulations, you should be so proud of yourself.' Then she left. We've known each other for how long and when I tell her the biggest news of my life, she just sits there…paralyzed. Then she leaves two minutes later!"

Lyla nodded and said, "Well, that sounds like Clarisse. You can only have so deep a relationship with her, Ness; she's just not someone capable of really bonding with people. I think Prince Rupert, like everyone, probably sensed that immediately when he met her."

Vanessa said, jokingly, "Yeah, when he walked in to meet her and he realized he could see his breath in the air, he probably pictured his wedding night and shivered."

Lyla said scoldingly, "Oh, now. Don't gloat. It's not appropriate for royalty to gloat."

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Gillian said suddenly, "Say, did you hear anything about the other girl? Sophia?"

Elizabeth said, "Well, it's third hand, but apparently the word in Libit, where she's from, is that she and the Prince didn't hit it off. Their personalities clashed."

Gillian nodded. "Oh, really? My parents said that he was very charming."

Elizabeth said, "Oh, he is. He's very nice."

Gillian said, "The 'clash' must have been on her end then."

"I doesn't matter, It's going to be Clarisse. You mark my words." Elizabeth said sipping her coffee.

Gillian said, "Hmmm…I hope so. Still, according to Nat, Vanessa seemed pretty confident before she went to dinner." She looked at the clock over the counter. "It's quarter after ten. Vanessa's got be done by now."

Elizabeth said, "Probably, yes. What time was Clarisse's meeting – 4:00 p.m. for tea, right?"

Gillian nodded as Elizabeth commented, "Prince Rupert is going to get fat with all these meals so close together."

After a moment, Gillian asked, "Have you spoken to Clarisse in the last two days? I've been so tied up with this stupid reading group I've been roped into organizing that the few times I got a chance to try and call, I missed her."

Elizabeth said, "No, I haven't. I do owe her a call; she phoned the house last night, but I felt like such an imbecile at how badly things went, I just didn't want to talk to her."

Gillian said, "Oh, Liz. You're not an imbecile; and I'm sure it didn't go as badly as you think it did. You just may have put too much pressure on yourself. Anyone would. He's the crown prince, for heaven's sake."

She said shaking her head, "You know, I don't mind not being the chosen one. Honestly, I can live with that, I just wish I hadn't made an ass of myself. I didn't even give him a chance to see the real me. It's one thing to be beat out by someone else, but it's a whole other thing knowing you beat yourself; that you didn't give it your best."

Gillian thought about it for a moment and said, "Well, wouldn't it have been worse not to have been chosen after you felt you gave it your best?"

Elizabeth stopped, flatfooted, trying to untangle what Gillian said. She furrowed her brow skeptically and said, "Oddly, I find that comforting, but I think I should find it…insulting."

Gillian said, "What I mean is that these meetings were about which one of you is the Prince's 'type'. The Prince doesn't seem like an insensitive jerk; he's going to understand that someone would be nervous in such a situation, so, if you don't get chosen it's because you're not his type, simple as that. And how can you fail at not being someone's type?"

Elizabeth nodded and said slowly, "Okay, go on. You're convincing me."

Gillian said supportively, "I mean, you just don't know what he's going to respond to, what he's going to make priority one. Maybe it's a sense of humor, or eye-color, or whether he's more a boob man than a leg man. Who knows? My point is that there really wasn't anything you could have done to increase your chances. So, you're the type to get nervous in nerve-wracking situations; that doesn't make you an imbecile. It makes you human."

Elizabeth said, "That did it. I've decided to be comforted and not insulted. Thank you."

Gillian raised a forkful of pie as if say 'anytime'.

Elizabeth said, "So…if my getting nervous makes me human, what does that make Clarisse and Vanessa?"

Gillian said without missing a beat, "Super-human."

They both laughed. Gillian continued, leaning across the table revealingly and half-whispering, "But the thing is…they both _do_ get nervous. They just dress it up better than the rest of us. What's really crazy, though…they react exactly opposite of each other when they're nervous – Clarisse gets even more calm. Vanessa gets even more outgoing. Did you ever notice that?"

Elizabeth sat forward, completely fascinated by Gilly's theory, "Now that you mention it…Clarisse is always quiet before debate class; Vanessa is always glad-handing."

Gilly was nodding, "Yeah…and their reactions to the invitations to the palace? Clarisse sat really still and said nothing, and Vanessa came tearing across the student union like a mad woman."

Elizabeth said enthusiastically, "Yes!"

Gillian said, "It's as if when things are going crazy, Clarisse looks to control the situation by controlling herself; Vanessa tries to control it by controlling everyone else."

They looked at each other, quiet for a moment, before Elizabeth sat back and said, "Weird."

Gillian said significantly, "Really weird, especially if you're right and he doesn't choose you, that these are the last two women vying for the throne." She paused to let that sink in. She continued almost whispering, "Just imagine how differently they would rule Genovia."

There was humor in Gillian's voice, but Elizabeth was struck by the insight within her observation. They really were two very different people and would rule country in two very different ways…and most Genovians had no idea of the fork in the road where Genovia currently found itself. She and Gilly only happened to know because they happened to go to school with the two women who happened to be in contention. Very heady stuff.

Elizabeth whispered in awe, "Wow. And to think the future of the country might hinge on whether he's a leg man or a boob man."

They looked at each other for a moment before they burst out laughing, unable to stop even when they received annoyed glances from their fellow diners.

8888888888

Clarisse said in her usual deferential way, "Well, I wouldn't say it was _that_ definite, Natalie. Vanessa also got asked to meet his parents."

Vanessa sat on her bed, blazer and hanger still not having met up and said, "She's meeting them for _tea_. He asked _you_ to dinner. _Dinner_ is at nighttime. Nighttime is much more serious."

Clarisse laughed and said, "Oh, really. Is that what makes it serious?"

Ignoring Clarisse's comment for the moment, Natalie went on, "And he only invited Vanessa to meet his parents. He didn't ask his brother, sister-in-law or his sister." She paused before saying, "That's huge, Clarisse."

Clarisse said nodding to herself, "That's what I thought, too."

Genuinely awestruck, Natalie said quietly, "You must have really hit it off, the two of you."

Clarisse said, herself sounding baffled at how it all happened, "We did! We had a perfectly comfortable afternoon. He's funny and charming. And relaxed. I was surprised at how relaxed he seemed; not at all like a man with truly enormous responsibilities waiting for him. He just seemed so at ease that I couldn't help but be. We just talked so easily." Clarisse ran out of ways to explain how such a nice time came out of what could have been such an uncomfortable afternoon.

Natalie said, shaking her head, "I told you didn't I…dealing with a grown man; it's a whole different world than dealing with the ding-dongs around here."

Clarisse giggled heartily for a few minutes at Natalie's devastating take on the young men in their circle. When she'd calmed down a bit she said, "You do slay me. That's why I keep you around, you know."

Natalie said dryly "I live to serve."

After a moment, Clarisse asked, "How's Elizabeth?"

Natalie said, "Oh, she's alright. I spoke to her right after I spoke to you this afternoon. She's stopped crying, at any rate. She's more embarrassed than anything at this point."

Clarisse said, "Oh, she shouldn't be embarrassed. She was nervous, it's not a crime."

Natalie said, "She said she could live with not being chosen, she just wished she could have left a better impression on the Prince."

Clarisse said, "I'm sure he understood. Besides, if she was that undone by it all, maybe it wasn't meant to be."

Natalie said, "That's what she thought. She said that it was like she was allergic to the job and her attack of nerves was her body and mind's way of telling her this just wasn't the right path for her."

Clarisse said, "Very sensible. Elizabeth can do a million different things with her life."

Natalie said pointedly, "Liz thinks you're going to be chosen. She said she's never seen you nervous in all the years she's known you."

Clarisse rolled her eyes and said, "I just hide it well."

Natalie said, "No, you're just stronger."

Neither of them said anything for a moment before Clarisse said, "Well, naturally, I'll call you when I hear something."

Nat said, "Good. Oh, do you mind if I tell Vanessa how things went with you and Rupert?"

Clarisse considered that for a moment and said, "Well, no, you can tell her. Just…well, don't tell her if you think it will upset or distract her from what she's got on her own plate. Not that it would, but you never know."

Natalie said, "No, I just mean if she finally breaks down and asks. I'm sure she'll call me tomorrow after her tea."

Clarisse said, "Well, when you talk to her, tell her I hope all is going well."

Natalie said, "She won't believe you mean it."

Clarisse said with an amused sigh, "I know. But tell her anyway."

Nat said, "Well, I'll talk to you tomorrow, sweets. Good night, Your Highness."

Clarisse said indulgently, "Nite, Nat."

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Rupert was looking out the window of the study, finishing his brandy when he said suddenly, "Oh, oh. Dad's got her out for a walk. That's not good."

Eitenne came and looked over Rupert's shoulder to see his parents walking together. Etienne said helpfully, "Well, maybe they're not talking about you."

They both watched as their Mother animatedly shook her head and threw up her hands while their father looked at a loss. Etienne said, "Oh, scratch that, they're definitely talking about you."

Rupert sighed rubbing his head, "I wonder what a stroke feels like…

Etienne said, "Oh, it's not as bad as all that….you've dealt with Mom's wrath before. Besides, by the time she gets around to talking to you, she'll have already erupted all over Dad. He always gets the worst of it."

Rupert said, "That's true. I should go out there and rescue him. If it didn't look so cold out, that's exactly what I'd do." Turning away from the window he said "Ah, well. More brandy?"

Etienne said, "No, thanks."

Rupert said stretching his arms a bit and stifling a yawn "All I ask is that when she meets them, she gives them a chance. Especially Clarisse. I have a feeling Mom's going to be harder on her than Vanessa."

Etienne turned away from the window, "Why do you think that?"

Rupert said, "Because Clarisse is not as lively as Vanessa. Vanessa is extraverted; Clarisse is more reserved and I think Mother will see that as weakness."

Etienne nodded, "Oh, definitely. Mother hates shy, Rupert."

"Clarisse isn't shy…she's… self-possessed." Rupert said, not quite sure he'd conveyed what he meant.

Etienne mulled that over a moment, "'Self-possessed…well, that's alright; Mom can't object to that."

Rupert said, "That's why I want you there. Like I said, I've got an instinct about Clarisse, but I need to know how she comes across. I need your impression. You and Sara will be able to make dinner tomorrow? Latest, the day after. I want Madeleine there, but if she can't get the time from school, then she'll have to read about it in the papers like everyone else."

Etienne said, "Of course, we'll be there. And I spoke to Madeleine earlier today; she's moving heaven and earth – and a Biology test – to be here for tomorrow."

Rupert said optimistically, "Well, it sounds like the hard part is almost over. All that's left after this is to get married, produce some heirs and run the country." Downing the last of his brandy, Rupert said with a slight grimace, "I'm looking forward to the quietude."

TBC


	13. Why Wait?

Well, aye carumba! How long has it been?

I do apologize for taking so long to update but I was wiped out by the one-two punch of an annoying cold and Thanksgiving. I actually had to go back and read the last chapter to remember where I was.

Down to business; this chapter is not, in fact, the big meeting with the family, but a bit more Rupert/Clarisse interaction to illustrate why their relationship is different from the rest of the women he's met. (It's somewhat difficult to write a story when you have to serve a predestined outcome…after all, we know he chooses her, right?)

In any case, I hope you enjoy!

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Clarisse sat in the back of the limo that Rupert had sent for her, looking out the window. Unlike her first trip to the palace, she actually saw the scenery as it passed by. She was much calmer today than she had been then. She thought wryly that all those people over the years who'd so tactfully described her as reserved when she knew they meant unfeeling would probably feel entirely justified in their assumption if they saw her on this day. Here she was, on her way to meet a man's family – a man whose family happened to be the nation's _royal_ family – and she was completely without nerves.

Truthfully, it wasn't long ago that her stomach got watery and sour every time she thought about meeting the Renaldi's. She hadn't slept all night after talking to Natalie and had been distracted and good for nothing for most of yesterday. Then, in the late afternoon – right around the time Vanessa was having tea with the Royals, in fact – the invitation was delivered. Looking as all the invitations had up to this point – official, engraved, intimidating – she opened it with a deep breath, ready to make note of the date and time. Immediately, however, her eye was drawn away from the official printing to the handwriting at the bottom.

It read, _"Clarisse, I'll have a car pick you up at 6:30 p.m. so that you and I will have some time alone to talk before we sit down to eat with everyone. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow night. Rupert."_

She had been very, very startled to find a personal aside in her official invitation. As startled as if he'd walked up behind her and said 'Boo!'. It was a simple two line note, but the gesture seemed so… intimate? No, but…familiar, friendly. That was it…friendly. Friendliness in the midst of such official business; that was a surprise.

Then again, maybe it wasn't a surprise. It occurred to her that if she sent him something, no matter how official, she would feel strange _not_ including even a simple 'Hi' from her, personally. She had felt very comfortable with him from the beginning. This note seemed to indicate that he'd felt equally so, which was a nice thing to think, because on the way home from sharing tea with him she thought that even if she didn't wind up being asked to fulfill the role of Queen, she hoped they could remain in touch; perhaps be friends.

As the palace came into view in the distance, Clarisse thought with real amusement that if she did wind up residing there as Queen, she was going to have to give Natalie a job as repayment for the counsel she'd provided; was still providing. Not surprisingly, Clarisse had gone to the phone and called Nat before the thought began to take root in her head that Rupert was a naturally friendly person and probably sent handwritten notes all the time to people that he held in no special esteem.

Natalie told her, no, Vanessa didn't mention His Highness writing her a note, nor wanting to meet her early so they would have time to talk. That was enough to calm Clarisse's nerves and feel comfortable taking his gesture to be a genuinely friendly one, but Natalie wasn't satisfied with calm nerves. She was ready to throw a party. She pointed out that the most telling thing about the note was not the note itself, but what it said.

Exasperated, Natalie had exploded, "Clarisse…did you even read the note? It reads_ '… before we sit down to eat with everyone.'_ _We_, Clarisse, _we_! Not you, alone, like he was going to be standing on the sidelines letting you fend for yourself, but _we_. He already sees you as a couple! Oh, my God! This really _is_ going to happen…I'm talking to the future Queen of Genovia!"

While Clarisse didn't necessarily think Rupert thought of themselves as a 'couple', and whether he meant anything at all by the way he phrased the note, it nonetheless made Clarisse feel very…safe at the prospect of meeting his family. She felt like she had an ally. The flood of relief that raced through her at that thought was so sudden and unexpected that she almost felt dizzy, and she knew why.

In the weeks since this whole escapade began, she'd overcome most of her insecurities about not being able to carry out the duties of Queen. She was humbled and overwhelmed at the thought, but she loved her country, loved it's people and felt that whatever she may lack by way of … royal instinct, it was that enduring love that would guide her and help her. It was a tremendous responsibility, more responsibility than she'd ever thought she'd bear in her life, but if asked, yes, she thought she could do the job.

No, it wasn't the 'job' that had fueled her urge to run and hide and forget this whole endeavor. It wasn't the 'job' that made her feel like a child who was playing in a grownup's world; it was the other side of the equation. The side that lurked in the corner, in the dark behind the throne she was in contention to occupy.

Becoming Rupert's wife.

Even now, sitting in the car that Rupert himself had sent for her, calm as she was, she shuddered a bit at the thought of being his…wife. It was far too complicated a situation to even begin to contemplate so up to the moment she received his note, she had staunchly and exclusively focused on the 'job'.

Finding Rupert to be a likeable man had been gratifying, not to mention a relief, but it was his simple two line note, however it was intended, that had quietly begun easing a knot of tension in her stomach that she hadn't even realized had gotten so big. She actually felt capable of thinking of the Rupert side of things…up to a point. Up to the point of sharing a dinner with him. Sharing a dinner and actually imagining having a good time with him by her side amid the official business. Beyond that, … well, beyond that she wasn't prepared to dwell any further on the Rupert side of things.

Still, it was a start, and as the limo pulled through the gates of the palace, she felt it was a good start. His note had eased the queasiness that had accompanied her on her first trip to the palace and recurred every time she thought of going back. This time she was feeling much more like the old Clarisse who, no matter what difficult situation she was facing, ultimately always believed that she could handle whatever may be thrown her way.

Like the fact that the limo unexpectedly drove past the main entrance of the palace. She leaned forward a bit and gazed out the window, trying to decide whether to ask the driver where they were going. She began wondering if this had something to do with why Rupert had wanted her to come early when the limo stopped in front of a side entrance, and the man himself materialized on the steps. 'Speak of the devil and the devil appears', Clarisse thought.

As her door was opened and she got out of the car, he walked down the steps to greet her with a smile. She curtsied and said, "Your Highness."

He offered her a warm handshake and said, "Clarisse, it's so good to see you again." As he motioned her toward the door he said quietly so the footmen couldn't hear, "I'm glad you could come early. I thought it might be less stressful for you if you had a chance to regain your palace sea legs for a bit rather than walking right into dinner."

She said, "Yes, I think it will be. I appreciate the thought."

He said even more quietly, "And if, over a before-dinner-sherry, I happen to let slip some valuable insights into our fellow diners, then so be it. Everyone knows I can't hold my sherry."

She smiled, "Oh, well that _would_ be helpful. Thank you again."

After having her coat taken, they walked to the study where she'd waited for him two days ago. As she walked in and looked around, again without the haze of nervousness really seeing it for the first time, she thought it felt like a much longer time than merely two days. So much had changed, at least in her own mind, over that short time.

He interrupted her thoughts by asking, "Would you like some sherry? Don't feel obliged…"

She smiled, "Sherry would be nice, thank you."

He poured two drinks and as he walked over with the cocktails, he took in her appearance. A dark blue, long sleeved dress that ended just below the knee, a string of pearls and matching pearl earrings her only accessories. His mother would be pleased. For his part, he was silently relieved that she hadn't gone the fabled 'little black dress' look; he'd seen it so often that he actually started holding a lack of creativity against those who donned it.

Clarisse said as he handed her the sherry, "Thank you. Shall we have a toast?"

He blithely raised his glass, "To Genovia; The land I call my home."

Clarisse raised her glass, "Pear capital of the world."

He replied resignedly , "Ah, yes. But I love her anyway." He took a sip and continued briskly, "Well, I hope I haven't unnerved you by summoning you here early and whisking you in a side door."

She shook her head, "No, your note mentioned you wanted time to talk?"

He nodded as he motioned for her to sit in a nearby chair, "Yes. I just wanted to give you the lay of the land, as it were. I don't want to shock you, but everyone will be focused on you this evening."

She smiled, "I'm not shocked by that."

He settled into the armchair across from her, "Oh, good." He looked at her for a moment, trying to decide how to proceed. He had sketched a primitive outline for this conversation, but looking at her now he thought she looked composed enough that honesty would be appropriate. He began slowly, "Well, first off, I want you to know that I didn't invite anyone to this dinner to trick you or lay traps for you. They are my family, I want them to meet you. It's as simple as that, as far as I'm concerned."

She said nothing, but was clearly listening intently. He took a breath and resumed, "Yet, there is a tremendous amount at stake with this dinner, of course. I assume by your presence here tonight that you have decided to pursue becoming part of the royal fold."

She nodded calmly, "Yes, I have."

He smiled and, deviating even further from his outline, he said, "Well, I'm glad of that, both for the country and myself."

She smiled and shifted self-consciously in her chair, "Thank you."

He continued, "Still and all, I do need you to meet my family. Technically, you only _need_ to meet my mother and father. I would _like_ you to meet my brother and sister." After a moment, he remembered quickly with an embarrassed laugh, "…and my sister in law, of course."

She nodded, "Yes, I'm very curious to meet them."

He raised his eyebrows and smiled, "Well…if you say so! Honestly, they are looking forward to meeting you as well and I expect that we will all have a delightful dinner together. That being said…", he leaned forward conspiratorially, "…here's the lowdown:"

She leaned forward slightly eager to hear his illicit information. "Firstly, my father; he's quiet by nature, so don't take his lack of chattiness as any reflection on you and your all around fascinating -ness."

Clarisse nodded with a smile, "Alright."

Rupert went on significantly, "My mother, on the other hand, is a very outgoing conversationalist – _normally_. However, and I'm merely guessing at this you understand, I suspect that tonight she will be much more of a wallflower than she typically is. She'll spend her time observing rather than participating…so that means no drinking from the finger bowl or blowing your nose in the napkin, no matter how much you want to."

Clarisse laughed out loud. "Oh, I'm so glad you told me. I do love to do that."

He raised his hands in defense of himself as she continued to laugh quietly, "I'm not impugning your manners, mind you. I'm just trying to paint a picture."

She chuckled again, "A picture…yes. I do think I understand your point."

He grinned, "Good. Again, I just didn't want you to think that my mother's quietness was a lack of interest in you. Quite the contrary, in fact. As I say, I may be wrong, but my guess is that she will spend her evening watching you from behind my sister-in-law's mouth."

Clarisse furrowed her eyebrows and with a slight smile inquired, "Painting another picture?"

He smiled and sighed, "Yes, that brings me to Sara. A lovely woman, really. She's a bit…hmm, how to put it… exuberant."

Clarisse absorbed that. Exuberant wasn't, on it's face, a bad thing. She would describe Natalie as exuberant. Somehow, though, she didn't think Rupert meant exuberant in that same spirit and she could clearly tell by the way he was watching her that he was waiting for her to translate his euphemism.

After a moment she delicately took up his gauntlet, "You mean she's… loud."

Rupert raised his eyebrows and touched his finger to his nose. "Exactly. Though, I'll deny that I ever described my lovely sister-in-law in such an unflattering light."

Clarisse shook her head, "You said exuberant. There is nothing unflattering about exuberant."

He laughed, "Yes. Well, she is. She's very outgoing and talkative. She'll probably dominate the conversation, thereby letting my mother sit back and…"

Clarisse finished for him, "…observe."

"Exactly."

"Is there anything I should know about your brother and sister? Will they be wearing disguises or donning accents…?"

"Oh…I almost forgot about them. No, no red flags there. My brother, Etienne is more talkative than my father but not quite as verbose as I am, if that gives you a fair idea. You have nothing to worry about with him; he's very easy to get to know. He very much enjoys meeting and chatting up new people. That goes for my sister, Madeleine, as well. She, in fact, is 'dying' to meet you. I think, mostly, because you and she are close in age. As you might already know, she's 18. Graduating from The Havern Academy this year."

She digested his catalogue of insight and took a deep breath as she sat back in her chair, "Well, none of that sounds too scary."

It suddenly occurred to Rupert sharing his knowledge with her might be a double edged sword. "Truly, Clarisse, I'm not telling you all this so that you can come up with a strategy to deal with them, or asking you to behave as someone you're not, I just wanted to give you some insight. I hope I haven't made your evening more difficult by discussing this with you."

She shook her head, "No, not at all. This is such an…unusual situation that trying to overthink it is useless. After all, it's not as if I've gone through anything in my life that is going to help me know how to handle a dinner like this. I've decided getting nervous about it would be a complete waste of energy."

He nodded slowly, "A sensible attitude."

In the silence that followed, Rupert regarded her for a moment longer. She didn't look like she was trying to convince herself as well as him that what she said was true. The self-possession that he'd mentioned to Etienne was on display and seemed entirely genuine. Remarkable, really, for a 19 year old girl who'd lived her life as a private citizen up to this point.

He took a sip of his sherry, "You're a very bright young woman, Clarisse. I look forward to…getting to…know you better. I guess?"

He noted the slightly amused look on her face at his confused comment and shook his head with a smile. "I'm sorry Clarisse, sometimes the absurdity of all of this gets the better of me; I'm looking forward to getting to know you better – a woman I'm twenty minutes away from introducing to my family as my possible bride. It's ludicrous, really. I have trouble reconciling the personal and business sides of this undertaking."

Thinking back to her conversation with herself in the limo, she sympathized, "Believe me, I know. I try to focus on one at a time, rather than the whole picture at once."

He chuckled, "You've experienced the schizophrenia, then?"

She nodded, "Ohhhh, yes. But as you very generously pointed out, I have a choice whether to involve myself. You, however…"

He smiled grandly. "Well, some people are born to greatness and all that…"

She watched him as he took a sip of his sherry and thought that, just looking at 'this undertaking' from her limited role in the process, she could tell that _his_ side of things must have been sheer madness. She couldn't even fathom how he'd decided the list of parents he wanted to meet, but even starting at that point, it all seemed so stressful; meeting with Lord knew how many families – 12, that she knew of personally –attempting to discern enough about their daughter to decide if it was worth his time to meet her. Then, in one meeting, trying to assess whether she would make an appropriate queen, an appealing wife and a suitable mother with the wherewithal to raise a king, while simultaneously seeing her through the eyes of Their Majesties, Parliament and the citizenry…all in two weeks. Bedlam.

She herself was drained and was merely one spoke on this ferris wheel. Rupert, as the axle on which the whole thing turned, must be mentally exhausted. How he managed to get to this point with his sense of humor still in tact was a miraculous thing really.

She said quietly, "I can't imagine how complicated this must be for you."

He looked up slightly surprised by her comment. He considered his answer for a moment before responding, "Well, it has been a singular experience. I imagine I'll not go through anything like it again."

She smiled, "No, I would guess not."

He said genially, "I'll admit, it's been strange and intense, but also rather fascinating. I have gotten to meet a number of very charming people – present company included, naturally – which has made this peculiar time much easier. And I've learned a lot about myself, I think."

She raised her eyebrows in curiosity, "Oh, yes? How so?"

He shrugged, looking skyward for a moment, "Oh, I don't know…discovering the qualities that I value in others, I suppose. You know, even in my… 'un-arranged' relationships I guess you could call them, I never focussed so intently on what I really appreciate in another person; things that I truly find appealing, things I absolutely can't stand, what I'm willing to tolerate and what I won't do without. Things like that."

He chuckled, "I used to assume that the key to a successful relationship was finding someone who was as much like me as possible, thinking that would make everything easier; that it would mean we would understand one another implicitly, right from the outset. In reality, it doesn't work that way. And even if it did, now that I've actually been thinking about spending my entire life with someone, I think that would be…boring. Unchallenging. A waste, really."

Clarisse listened to his musings, but was more fascinated at simply witnessing this reflective side of Rupert. Fascinated that he had one, and fascinated that he so easily shared it with her. Everything about him seemed…easy. She didn't know whether his naturalness was because he was comfortable with her or if it was something innate within him, but she admired the quality. She envied it. She aspired to it.

Rupert looked at her watching him and he laughed finishing his thought, "Not mention hazardous to the country – two of me would be a bit much, don't you think?"

She grinned, "Well, there is that old adage about too much of a good thing."

"Why, thank you." He took a deep breath, "Really, all in all, it has been a positive experience. If a bit of a whirlwind. I do worry that I've left a great deal of chaos in my wake, however."

He idly swirled his sherry around his glass. Looking over at her, he quietly ruminated, "You know, there were reasons, very good reasons, why things were conducted the way they were and at the pace that they were, but I can't help but think that for some of the young ladies involved it will take a while before they are able to put their lives back together. I don't mean to sound pompous, you understand, but I imagine for some, having a prince descend upon their lives out of the clear blue only to disappear just as suddenly …well, it could be unsettling."

She was on the verge of reflexively downplaying his worry, but knew it would ring false. If the roller coaster ride from ecstasy to devastation that Amelie Kent experienced at being considered and then discarded was even remotely as accurate as Natalie had heard, then Clarisse knew she'd never be convincing telling him he was wrong. Amelie hadn't even come back to school yet.

She said simply, "That's probably true, to an extent."

He looked at her knowing she saw first hand the aftermath and was tempted to ask specifics. He knew that wouldn't be fair so opted for staying silent, nodding ruefully.

Wanting to offer some sort of consolation, she leaned slightly forward in her chair, choosing her words carefully, "I can tell you, from my own experience, that after the initial chaos had settled, even before I received your invitation to meet personally, what was left was a feeling of… honor. Honor at having been asked to be even a small part of the concerns of the monarchy."

He said quietly, "You might be a bit more… intuitive than most young women your age, Clarisse."

She didn't argue his point, but shook her head slightly, "Don't underestimate the respect the country has for the Crown, and your family, in particular. That respect brings with it a willingness on the part of your people to credit well-intentioned motives to your actions."

He blinked, caught flatfooted by the sobriety of her comment. He didn't know whether to consider it terribly naïve or terribly shrewd, but if he hadn't heard it come out of the mouth of a 19 year old girl he would have believed it attributable to a professional politician.

She continued more lightly, "This is the first in a long line of difficult decisions you'll have to make for the good of the country, and as a Genovian subject, I'm gratified to know you are concerned with your effect on us. It will make you an even better King than the country quite justifiably assumes you will be."

Rupert said nothing but continued to look at her, almost through her, seeming to slip deep into thought. Clarisse was content to wait in silence but the stillness stretched on for so long that she began to worry that she'd overstepped.

She was about to offer a vague apology, or at least a clarification, when he spoke, slowly and gravely, "You know Clarisse, I do hope that things go well tonight and that my family likes you. Of course, there is no reason to think they won't."

He stopped and said no more. Gazing into his now empty glass he didn't notice Clarisse slowly nodding in response, nor the look on her face reflecting the sudden seriousness of his tone. She waited for him to continue, to give some clue as to the point he was trying to make.

He resumed, "Their opinion matters a great deal to me. I rely on them for their advice and guidance and expect I always will."

He stopped speaking once again and she uncrossed and re-crossed her ankles to fill the lull. She hoped he wasn't waiting for her to take up the thread of this conversation because she had no idea where this conversation was going.

Moving only his eyes, he looked directly at her and continued, "I do want to know their impressions…but this is not a decision that is going to be made by committee. Ultimately, the choice is mine."

She was about to speak, just to cut off the stream of inscrutable commentary, when he took a deep breath and leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. "Clarisse, as far as I'm concerned, barring some catastrophic occurrence befalling tonight's dinner…my decision is made."

She wouldn't say that her jaw 'dropped', but her bottom lip certainly separated from its mate. He'd just told her that she would be Queen. Right here. Right now. No cliffhanger at the end of the evening, no counting the hours waiting for word from the palace, no tea-leaf reading with Natalie. This was it; the big 'moment'; the monarchy had been decided over Sherry. She thought, no, certainly, he didn't mean that. Maybe he meant, after her last comment, he'd decided that Vanessa was his choice? No, that didn't sound…likely. She tried to replay their conversation, hoping it would yield some clue, but she couldn't gather her thoughts. She just couldn't believe it.

She finally registered his expectant gaze as he peered into her face. She slowly said the only thing that did make sense at the moment. "That sounded rather impulsive."

He shook his head calmly, "It's not, really. The timing, maybe, but not the decision."

She furrowed her brow and shook her head slightly, vaguely thinking about arguing that he was wrong, that he _was_ impulsive, but said nothing.

He leaned back in his chair and simply looked at her. "Surely, you can't be _that_ surprised."

She took a breath, "Well, I'm surprised, as you say, by the timing. I…well, I don't know how I thought I'd hear your decision, but I didn't think it would be…like this…Now. Tonight."

He watched her carefully as she wrestled with his declaration, coming as close to 'unsettled' as he thought he might ever see her. Which was not very. She was clearly startled but still seemed in command of her senses, yet nonetheless, he remained silent, giving her enough time to have a breakdown if she needed.

When none seemed forthcoming, he finally broke the silence, "The timing has thrown you…but not that you have been chosen."

She opened her mouth to respond and quickly closed it again. The simplicity of his statement, for there was no question in his voice, brought her back to herself with a thud. Was that true? Was she not, in fact, shocked by the news that he'd chosen her? Surely, she was shocked. It would be the height of arrogance if she wasn't shocked. She'd be…well, shocked at her arrogance if she wasn't shocked.

Yet…she didn't think she was shocked. She had always felt that this path, while not exactly predestined, was a good fit. It was like Natalie had said in the student union; 'something blurry coming into focus'. She agreed with Nat's sentiment then…and she agreed with it now. It was the arrogant truth…she was decidedly not shocked.

She saw by the small smile on Rupert's face that he knew exactly what she was thinking. Smiling herself she shrugged, "Well…I knew I stood a chance. At least a fifty-fifty chance." She paused before deciding to admit the wholly egotistical fact. "No, I'm not shocked. I thought it was a very real possibility."

He smiled smugly. "Hmm…I thought so. You're not as much a self-deprecating, shrinking violet as you appear."

She blushed slightly at being called on the carpet for her healthy ego, something, as he said, she did attempt to keep under wraps. She smiled a 'you caught me' smile.

He smiled back, no longer in such a serious mood. "Don't get a big head about it though. Throughout all this, you've been my 'dark-horse'."

She said almost without thinking, a rarity for her, "Well, I hate to break this to you, but you've also been my dark-horse. Somehow, you never emerged as the frontrunner whenever I imagined who I'd marry."

He laughed heartily, "Touche. Thought I can't believe my annual toast at the independence day ball didn't pull me up in the rankings. The Genovian Times prints it every year, for heaven's sake."

Dropping all pretense of composure, needing her curiosity satisfied, she shook her head and with a slight laugh, "What in the world made you tell me this now?"

He wasn't entirely sure himself. He certainly hadn't planned on it and wasn't completely convinced it was the smart thing to do, yet something told him it was safe to do it. He shrugged, "I don't know. It just seemed…unnecessary not to. Why keep you on tenterhooks; sending you home, making you wait – for a decision, for all intents and purposes, I'd already made? As I said, I wasn't being impulsive. I've been thinking of little else than this choice since I met the four of you. After our tea, I felt that you and I made a good match. The best match. Having more time with you tonight, before dinner, just the two of us talking… just further confirms my instincts. Does that make sense?"

She considered his question and nodded, "I do understand your feeling after our tea. I felt much less anxious about moving forward with this after meeting you. It occurred to me that, whatever your decision, we might be able to be friends."

"Exactly. It's certainly early in our knowing one another to make sweeping judgements, but at first blush I think we can make this work. Both professionally and personally."

She smiled and said in a small voice, "I do too. I'll certainly try."

Taking a regrouping breath and glancing at the clock above the fireplace, Rupert sat his glass of sherry on the table beside him. "Now that that's settled, we do have dinner in about five minutes. Again, I hope I haven't made the prospect of eating with my family more difficult by telling you this."

With a wry smile she said, "No, not all. In fact, you've put it all into perspective. Suddenly, this dinner seems the least of my concerns."

TBC-soon, I promise.


	14. Underwhelmed

Well, as promised, a more reasonable update turnaround. Here it is…the big meeting with the family. It took some time but I think it's worth it (and no, there is no falling suit of armor, yet, but stay tuned).

It was great to hear from you all, especially those of you that have been reading faithfully, (Dragoneye, aserene, petriebird, magdalene, mainer, rogueinker, and andreak). I appreciate the patience and am glad that you were still there waiting when I finally crawled out from under the cranberry sauce and cold medicine to post.

By the way, are any of you planning to write anything sometime in the future? You all sound like you have a true love of storytelling that I'd be very interested to read a new story from any of you. (I do have the intention of searching for works of yours already posted, but my face-to-face computer time is limited, what with real life that refuses to stop when I want to read).

Anyway, please enjoy these characters that are not all mine and make me no money.

------------------------

As she forked another grape, Katherine impassively gazed at the blandly polite young woman who was sitting between her eldest son and her husband, and currently embroiled in a conversation with the latter about horse riding.

Henri asked, "So, then you _have_ ridden in competition? Your father didn't mention that."

Clarisse said, "I used to compete, but three years ago, I was thrown and broke my wrist."

The King frowned slightly, "You didn't want to compete after that?"

She took a breath, "No, not at all. I wanted to keep competing, but I couldn't anymore. Not really."

"Oh, no. Why not?" Henri, who always had disdain for riders who let fear derail them, was relieved she in fact had 'gotten right back on her horse' before letting that happen. She was a true horseman. Horsewoman.

She explained, "My wrist just wasn't strong enough to be reliable. I tried to compete, but to accommodate my weakened wrist, I needed to ride a less spirited horse, and…well, you know how that is; a mild horse just isn't capable of rising to an exceptional level when needed."

'Indubitably', thought Katherine, thinking of the parallels between mild horses and potential queens.

Clarisse continued her thought, "I do love to ride, so I do it for pleasure now. I miss competing, but given that I wasn't going to be competitive it seemed pointless to pursue professional riding. Pointless and unfair. Why take up a slot in a contest that could go to someone more qualified, someone who had a more legitimate chance?"

'Would that she thought the same way about vying for the role of Queen', Katherine thought ungenerously.

The Queen shook her head slightly, knowing she was being unnecessarily harsh in her thinking, but she was irritable. A state of being that seemed to be a way of life for her these days. Why did Rupert do things like this to her? To torture her? Why was he forcing her to meet this inscrutable girl? Why, why, why when they'd already met Vanessa who was so perfect for the job that she might have been sent straight from Central Casting? Vanessa, who was so straightforward in her impression; gregarious, vivacious, forceful, with a charismatic disposition that seemed to radiate energy. Vanessa, who even looked the part of a lively young princess that would bring vim and vigor to the monarchy; petite and trim with lovely brown eyes and hair, and an open, inviting smile that never seemed to leave her face, even in her most serious moments. Vanessa, the very picture of a vital and healthy future for Genovia.

Vanessa, who was all that Clarisse, with her armor of coolness…was not.

Katherine looked over at Rupert, a plate full of uneaten pears in front of him of course, as he chatted across the table with his brother. She wondered idly if the boy had a split personality. He couldn't have chosen two more different women for them to meet. How could he be intrigued by them both? Vanessa, with her infectious personality, was obvious. Clarisse…

Admittedly, why Clarisse was here wasn't a _complete_ mystery to Katherine. After all, the girl did have more than her share of admirable traits. Certainly, she was a bright and articulate conversationalist. She definitely seemed to have no trouble handling pressure. Her manners were truly impeccable, more refined than many heirs to thrones than Katherine had dined with over the years, giving her an air of elegance not often found in one so young. And, perhaps most significantly, Clarisse managed to pass a test that Katherine privately gave to every person she met, from royalty to commoner; a test that very few – including Vanessa, she was chagrined to admit – came close to passing: The Dreaded Posture Test. Clarisse Mignionette, Katherine had noted soberly, had posture that Admirals in the Royal Navy would envy.

Nonetheless, as she rested her eyes upon Clarisse once again, who was listening to something horse related that Henri was saying, Katherine shook her head. She just didn't see it; whatever Queen-ly potential Rupert saw. She had spent the entire night watching the girl and it had occurred to Katherine that there was such a thing as too much poise. Clarisse was so circumspect in her bearing that dealing with her was like shouting into an abyss…she gave nothing back; she gave no echo. Equally fatal was the fact that she was a pale, somewhat lanky, too tall girl whose eyes and mouth turned down at the corners, leaving her with a decidedly sad countenance. What an invigorating picture she would present to the people of Genovia the first time they saw her on television! No, Clarisse just wasn't dynamic or outgoing enough, either in her general demeanor or physical appearance, to be an effective public figure.

Rupert must know all of this, deep down, but was stubbornly offering her up to them as a viable choice. Not for the first time Katherine wondered what exactly was going through his head. This whole bride search had revealed so much about Rupert that she didn't know or understand. That her child, at 31 years old, could still surprise her, that he might have hidden facets to his personality scared her witless. Especially considering that this particular child held history in his hands. She sighed and absently wondered if maybe she and Henri should have just arranged a bride for him when he was three years old and hoped for the best.

She raised her eyes from her dessert plate and found Rupert watching her with a disgruntled look on his face, as if he knew what she was thinking. She offered him a smile. He returned one of his own, albeit one tinged with testiness. Yes, he clearly had read her mind. They would talk later, no doubt.

However, later was later, right this second she had business to attend to. Looking around the table, she announced grandly, "Shall we retire to the study for coffee?"

Rupert offered dryly, still eyeing his mother, "Brandy for me."

Rupert caught the disapproving look she returned to him as everyone stood and made their way across the hallway to the study, but didn't care.

He almost wanted to call a time-out to the festivities, right this instant, so that he could have a fierce tete-a-tete with his mother, who clearly had a bee in her bonnet about something. Something about Clarisse, he could only assume. There would be no retiring straight to his rooms after this dinner, that was certain. More to the point, he wouldn't allow her to retire to her rooms; he wanted to know exactly what her objections were.

Why didn't he see this coming? Why didn't he know that she would throw some sort of obstacle in what had finally become a smooth ride? From the beginning of the whole process, it seemed, he had to justify every decision he made, the same way he did when he was 12 years old. One would never know from his mother's treatment of him that he was a full grown King-to-be. What did a man have to do around here to pick his own wife? Etienne got to pick _his_ own wife…

"Is everything alright?" Clarisse's quiet voice interrupted his sulky internal tantrum.

He offered her a smile and nod, "Just finally running out of steam, I think. It's been a long couple of days."

She conveyed her understanding with a smile, looking a little tired herself, he thought. He wasn't surprised; she was working hard. Very effectively, his mother notwithstanding. Rupert could tell that Etienne, for one, liked her; not that that was too surprising; he liked most everyone. Even so, he talked with her at length about his pet project, government funded athletic programs for disadvantaged children. Rupert had been listening with one ear, but knew Etienne was intrigued when she pointed out that girls, both advantaged and disadvantaged, were especially under-served when it came to athletics and suggested that angle might go down easier with Parliament.

Madeleine was equally interested in talking to her, though with not quite such lofty goals as getting poor children interested in esteem-boosting soccer matches. She simply wanted to know all about life at the University. As Clarisse described a typical day, Rupert didn't even bother to pretend that he wasn't listening to their conversation. He was fascinated. Rupert knew Maddy had made a strong effort to come and meet Clarisse specifically because she was looking forward to having a female member of the family who was her own age. She got on with Sara, but they didn't have much in common, Sara being 27 years old. The fascinating thing was, to Rupert anyway, that though they _were_ only about a year and a half apart in age, Clarisse seemed so much older than Maddy; more a peer of Sara's, in fact – but Maddy either didn't notice, or didn't mind. The two of them chatted like girls.

Strangely, the usually in-the-middle-of-everything Sara was banished to the sidelines of conversation. Come to think of it, Rupert didn't think she even got a chance to speak more than a few words here and there directly to Clarisse. He was sure that Clarisse's good fortune in that regard wouldn't hold out forever (shame on him), but still, he hadn't anticipated what a non-factor Sara would be.

His father, in fact, seemed to get more of Clarisse's ear than Sara did, and that was very, very unusual. For the life of him, Rupert couldn't think of one single time when his father chatted with _anyone_ more than Sara did. In this case, it might be attributed to the fact Clarisse was seated to the right of his father's traditional seat at the head of the table, and that she possessed the rare quality of being both willing and able to discuss horses for an inordinate amount of time, but nonetheless, it was quite out of the ordinary.

Perhaps he should have sat Clarisse next to his mother because she hadn't spoken so much as three words to Clarisse since they'd all sat down to dinner. She had done what he predicted she'd do…spent her evening observing, watching and waiting for Clarisse to do something, one way or the other, that would inform her opinion. He couldn't imagine what Clarisse had done, or not done, but it was clear that his mother was not entirely sold on her.

Well, he thought, she is not getting out of this evening without having an honest to God conversation with Clarisse. If he was going to have to defend his choice, which he was convinced he was going to have to do, then she was damn well going to give his choice a fair shake. He was going to make her talk to Clarisse.

Eyeing his brother and father significantly, hoping they'd at least obey if not understand, he announced, "We three Kings of Orient are…going to indulge ourselves with a cigar; we'll be in the garden for a few moments."

Etienne blindly took his cue from Rupert, "Well, I'm only a Prince, thank heavens, but I'll take you up on the invite."

Clarisse looked over at Rupert as her eyes grew large for a moment, a look that lasted only long enough for Rupert to notice. He smiled and winked at her reassuringly and her calm face reestablished itself. She didn't look entirely convinced, but she again looked composed. _Trust_, thought Rupert, was essential to any marriage.

Henri said resignedly to himself as he followed his boys out, "I am the King of this country, aren't I? Why doesn't that earn me the right to smoke a cigar inside?"

Katherine had to restrain herself from letting the irritation at Rupert's very obvious machinations show on her face, but she succeeded. She smiled and said to their backs as they made good their escape, "Enjoy yourselves, gentlemen. Don't be long."

The silence that followed their departure was loud, but Her Majesty being Her Majesty, she covered seamlessly. She turned to her charges and said, "Shall we have some coffee? Or tea, perhaps?"

Madeleine blurted out, "Rupert said something about brandy…can I have brandy?"

Katherine barely looked at her daughter as she said casually, "Of course not."

Madeleine sighed, not surprised. She addressed the guest of honor, "Would you mind terribly then, if I retired for the evening? I know I'm being a bit rude, but I'm exhausted."

Clarisse said quickly, "Oh, no, of course not, you're not being rude. It was a delight to meet you, your Highness."

At Clarisse's curtsey, Madeleine said, "Oh, please, Clarisse call me Madeleine. I had a wonderful time meeting you and hope to see you again soon, when I'm not so travel-weary."

Clarisse smiled, "I look forward to that and I thank you so much for making the long trip from school."

She offered Clarisse a handshake, "It was my pleasure." She turned and made her goodbyes to her mother and sister in law, leaving just the three of them to make a go of it.

'…and then there were three…' Clarisse thought to herself. She planted a calm smile on her face and waited.

Katherine took a breath, sounding chipper. "So, ladies…tea, coffee? Or, brandy?"

Sara piped up, "Brandy, for me, thank you, Katherine."

Clarisse said, "I'll have tea, if it's not too much trouble."

Katherine said, "No trouble at all. I was thinking of coffee, myself. That should sufficiently annoy the staff, wouldn't you say?"

After the varied after dinner beverages had been requested, Katherine invited her daughter-in-law and possible future but-not-if-she-could-talk-some-sense-into-Rupert daughter-in-law to sit. Still taking copious mental notes of every little thing, Katherine did, again, have to admire Clarisse's posture; she somehow managed to sit in the wing-backed chair without dropping her shoulders, and primly tucked one ankle behind the other.

The three of them made stilted, boring chit-chat about things inconsequential. They were all desperately tired of the long winter and passionately ready for the start of spring. Clarisse mentioned her love of flowers and the anticipation of seeing them abloom again. Katherine was simply anticipating the arrival of the drinks, thereby affording the three of them the opportunity to wax dramatic about…drinks, she supposed. Bored beyond measure, the Queen noted that even Sara, who she could always count on to keep a conversation up and running…and running, and running, seemed to be at a loss for scintillating discourse, no doubt effected by the pall that Clarisse's aura of reserve cast over everyone.

Mercifully, the staff must have sensed Katherine's desire to get this coffee klatch off the ground as the refreshments arrived presently. The three of them greeted the maid's arrival with the relief of tired swimmers receiving life preservers and proceeded to devote all their individual attention to the care and maintenance of their coffee, tea and brandy.

Watching as Clarisse sipped her tea, Katherine mused once again that her appearance was like everything else about her: understated. Except for her eyes, Katherine noticed; sad though they were, Clarisse did have lovely eyes; very blue. Focusing more closely, Katherine realized that the dark blue of her dress complimented her eyes rather well. Katherine hadn't noticed them before, but up close, her eyes suddenly became the only things you could see.

All at once – in an instant – Katherine was sure that Clarisse had engineered that very reaction deliberately. The effect was subtle, yet so entirely inescapable that it _had_ to be deliberate. It _had_ to be. Clarisse had bought that dark blue dress precisely because she knew it made her eyes jump out of her otherwise placid face, _but_ at the same time it was subdued and designed not to draw attention to herself if she'd worn it in a crowded room.

It made perfect sense to Katherine. It was everything Clarisse's resume said she would be: not so insecure or undignified as to allow herself to appear desperate to gain attention, but not so modest as to go unnoticed. And the way she accomplished both goals left her in an almost unassailable position; she achieved her desired effect without looking as if she did anything to achieve it.

Very clever, thought Katherine. Apparently, there was some craftiness behind the armor. Well, Katherine wanted to see _that_ Clarisse, the crafty Clarisse, the interesting Clarisse. Katherine decided that she needed to do something to pierce Clarisse's frustrating composure; she wanted to see some honest, unrestrained personality from the girl. In short, Clarisse needed to have her cage rattled.

"So, my dear, Rupert tells me you are close friends with Vanessa Simone?" That ought to do it.

'Ooof', Clarisse thought, not expecting to speak directly about 'the competition'. She thought, even Sara, who despite Rupert's warning had been quiet as a church mouse for most of the evening, looked at her mother-in-law in surprise. Clarisse gingerly placed her tea cup on its saucer. "Yes, we've been friends for a number of years."

"Really, how did you meet?"

As Clarisse told her Majesty the story of how she met Vanessa through Natalie eight years ago, she attempted to keep her voice casual and unperturbed. A tall order, under the weight of Rupert's mother's eyes; eyes that seemed to be unmoved with what they'd seen up to this point. She was looking at Clarisse over the rim of her coffee cup with the same look she'd given her all evening: Skepticism. It was a reaction Clarisse was surprised to get and at a loss as to how to combat. Parents usually loved her. Yet, doing the only thing she knew to do when things got sticky, she remained calm.

The Queen was saying, "So, the two of you have gone through school together?"

"Yes. She's an Art major at the University so we don't share any classes now, but we went through secondary school shoulder to shoulder."

Taking a sip of coffee, the Queen continued. "Ah, yes, if memory serves, the both of you were on the debate team as well as the school newspaper?"

Clarisse nodded, "Yes, we were. We had a wonderful time working together on our last issue of the paper."

The Queen couldn't resist. "I can imagine. Vanessa is such a gregarious girl."

Clarisse hesitated for a moment, perhaps sensing a barb in the Queen's comment. She slowed herself down and took a sip of tea. "Yes, Vanessa is very likeable. She was voted Most Popular Girl in our graduating class, in fact."

The Queen considered Clarisse's measured and rather gracious response. Katherine, in good conscience, couldn't find one single thing to quibble about in Clarisse's handling of her salvo. Not one single thing. And that was precisely what aggravated Katherine about Clarisse.

Sara chimed in quickly, uncharacteristically nervous about this conversation. "Oh, was she really? Did you vote for her?"

Clarisse shook her head, "Actually, I voted for my friend Natalie. I thought Vanessa had the title well in hand, but, for Nat's sake, didn't want it to be landslide."

Sara said, "Oh, well that was awfully thoughtful of you. That's being a good friend."

Yes, yes, awfully thoughtful, Katherine thought. Determined to provoke some sort of intemperate response from Clarisse, the Queen pushed further, "So, tell me, were you in contention for the title?"

Sara looked at the Queen out of the corner of her eye, glass of brandy halfway between her lap and her mouth, not quite sure of the 'nice-ness' of the question that Katherine had just asked. Her eyes quickly slipped to their opposite corner, awaiting Clarisse's response.

Clarisse also looked at the Queen for a moment without speaking. Though the Queen's tone was conversational, Clarisse almost felt as if the woman was making fun of her. Surely, she wouldn't do that, surely it was Clarisse's sensitivity to this particular subject that made her think that way. Still, she desperately needed to fight the feeling of nervous insecurity that began to swirl inside her, making her feel like a twelve year old. However, if she tried to slow down her responses any more she'd be speaking backwards, so settled for yet another sip of her tea.

She valiantly managed to give her response and air of pointed nonchalance. "I received a few votes, but consoled myself with announcing Vanessa's win as Most Popular in my weekly letter as Editor of the newspaper."

Sara's eyes shot back toward her mother-in-law, sensing her pause slightly. Whatever response Katherine had been waiting for, the one she got was not it.

Katherine, unknowingly, employed a Clarisse gambit by stalling for time by taking a sip of her coffee. She needed a moment to come up with a response. Or, more to point, to decipher Clarisse's response. She had been trying to provoke Clarisse and, at first blush, wasn't sure she had. Her comment was delivered in the same even-tempered tone that everything she'd said all night had been, but for all the equanimity, there was an audacity about it. Looked at more closely, it was a strong defense of herself, even at the expense of Vanessa. She made it clear that while she and Vanessa worked on the paper together it was _she_, Clarisse, who was the Editor, which, of course, by comparison made Vanessa's accomplishment of 'Most Popular Girl' seem frivolous.

The tone of her comment was just like the blue dress that she was wearing…subtle but unmistakable, and deliberate. All without leaving herself looking like she'd said anything even remotely uncivil.

The shrewdness behind Clarisse's way of making a point left Katherine taken aback for a moment and more than a little impressed. At the same time, she wondered why, in the name of God, didn't Clarisse just drop the infuriating veneer of poise and just _be_ the clever girl she was? Why be so withdrawn and cautious? It was just so frustrating to deal with Clarisse, it required so much effort, that Katherine couldn't imagine anyone with the stamina enough to break through the barrier of decorum that she set up around herself. Clarisse was just too much work.

Looking at Clarisse waiting patiently for a response, as inscrutable as the Mona Lisa, Katherine knew that nothing she said would provoke Clarisse into any kind of spontaneous exclamation. The girl had no temper, no capacity for impulse, no raw nerves. None that she would allow to show, at any rate.

Katherine resumed her conversation with resignation. "Eight years is a long time to be friends. I hope the call from the palace didn't cause too many uncomfortable moments between the two of you."

Clarisse said evenly, "Well, actually none at all. Vanessa and I haven't had the chance to see one another in the last week or so."

The Queen raised her eyebrows with interest waning, "Oh, not at all?"

Clarisse shook her head with a smile, relieved to be back on safer ground with this conversation, "No. We've both been so busy with school and work."

The Queen said blandly, having given up on really getting to know Clarisse, "Well, I imagine the two of you will be able to negotiate your way through the uneasy moments and carry on. You're both mature, sensible young women. I'm sure all will be fine in due course."

"Sure what will be fine?" Rupert said expansively as he came through the doors, startling everyone. Etienne and Henri right behind him, Rupert looked expectantly at the ladies as he made his way over to the brandy. At Clarisse's smile upon his return he was optimistic that things had gone well and smiled back at her.

The Queen, however, couldn't quite squelch the cringe that crossed her face at the sound of her son's voice. Damn his timing. A few minutes – seconds, even – and this discussion would be over with and Rupert would be none-the-wiser. Now she was caught and had to fess up. She took a breath and attempted casual guilt-lessness, "Oh, Clarisse's and Vanessa's friendship; I was saying I was sure it was a strong one."

The reinvigorated look on Rupert's face when he had reentered the study slowly hardened. Vanessa? Vanessa was mentioned? He closed his eyes briefly, trying to control his displeasure. Vanessa, wonderful. That was simply wonderful. What was he thinking leaving Clarisse alone with his mother and her ornery mood?

He sighed as he turned to pour himself an obscenely large brandy, thinking that the reassurance he'd gotten from the few moments with his brother and father were certainly fleeting. They had told him that they hadn't even noticed that the Queen had reservations about Clarisse. Rupert was relieved to think that perhaps he had read more into his mother's demeanor than he should, and overreacted. He actually entertained the idea that it was possible to get to bed early, as he'd hoped at the beginning of this evening. So much for that.

He grabbed his brandy, made his way over to the party prepared to make idle chit-chat. He passed his mother a look that he knew she read immediately. As he watched her mentally gird herself for a long evening of battle, he did the same.


	15. Come Out Swinging

Hello again! Here's the showdown. It goes all over the place, but hashes out a lot of conflict.

By the way, let me just address a slight 'slight' that Dragoneye mentioned in the last round of reviews…I'm assuming most here are fans of Julie Andrews and hope I didn't tick off anyone with my less than generous physical description of young Clarisse as thought by Katherine. I needed the Queen to have justified reservations about Clarisse, but get carried away with her complaints so we could all disagree with her but still have her come across as reasonable.

That said, I must admit I have always thought that Julie Andrews had a sad face. Not unattractive, certainly. In fact, she's one of those rare women who seems to have gotten more beautiful as she's gotten older. Yet, with every movie of her's that I've seen, (yes, Mary Poppins, too) it has crossed my mind that her face has a general sadness to it. (In the scene in the first Princess Diaries when Mia gets the diary, right after she tells Clarisse she couldn't bear disappointing her again, the movie cuts to Julie Andrews and the look on her face before she speaks always struck me as incredibly sad).

Granted an odd observation to make regarding a woman who has brought an incredible amount of joy to people, (myself included), but, there you go.

Anyway, not sure why I felt the need to address that, other than the fact that if I'd read my description, I probably would have thought, "Hey, now…what's that supposed to mean?"

Regardless, I do hope you enjoy the update.

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15

"Well, I found her difficult to know, and I'm going to tell Rupert that when he gets back." Sara stretched her legs and drank the last of her brandy as she and the rest of the family waited in the study for Rupert to say goodnight to Clarisse.

Etienne said taking a sip of his drink as he leaned against the fireplace, "I didn't think so. A bit reserved, perhaps, but she's a good listener."

Sara said, "She's such a good listener because she doesn't have much to say. She plays it all a bit too close to the vest, I think."

Etienne shrugged, "Well, perhaps she was nervous. In any case, It's hard know someone definitively based on one dinner."

"Well, that's why Rupert wanted us all to be there, so he could have a number of points of view. Mine was that she was not very forthcoming. He should know that."

Henri said quietly from his chair next to the fireplace, "I would wait on voicing your opinion to Rupert. He might have other business to attend to first when he gets back."

In the silence that followed Henri's observation, everyone looked over at Katherine. He hadn't said anything out loud, but they all knew that Rupert had not been at all pleased that Katherine had brought up the subject of Vanessa to Clarisse.

Katherine was distractedly tapping her fingers on the arm of her chair, gazing at nothing in particular, trying to decide how much trouble she was in with Rupert when she became aware of the silence and the three pairs of eyes resting upon her. She was about to admit that she hadn't been listening to them when the study doors opened with a bang.

"You were out of line." No preamble, no waiting for everyone to take their seats, no pointing to the offender just to avoid confusion as to whom Rupert was speaking. Before he'd even stopped walking into the study after bidding Clarisse goodnight, the words were out of his mouth, serving as the starting gun for the after-dinner festivities. He planted himself behind the chair that was facing his mother, and waited.

The Queen, now aware of what everyone had been talking about before Rupert walked in, tried to diffuse things before they got heated. She looked around the room with raised eyebrows, "I can only assume you are talking to me, or are you as upset as I am about how much horse-talk there was at the table?"

"I am in no mood, Mother. You were out of line discussing Vanessa with Clarisse."

Rupert was valiantly trying to hold onto his temper, but his mother's breach of etiquette coupled with the frustration of not even one stage of this whole journey passing without locking horns with her had him at his boiling point. He was annoyed, he was tired, and if his mother wasn't careful, he was going to be hoarse from yelling.

The Queen gave up trying to lighten Rupert's decidedly dark mood. Attempting to wrestle control of the conversation away from him immediately, she adopted a dismissive tone. "Rupert, I think you are getting upset over nothing. It was a natural path of conversation to follow with the girl. You yourself discussed the subject with Clarisse. In fact, I wouldn't have known of their friendship if you _hadn't."_

Rupert watched as his mother tap danced to the sound of her own rationalizations. He knew it wasn't as simple as that. She sounded defensive, something his mother rarely was. She'd stepped in it, he'd caught her and she was trying to put a high-gloss shine on it.

His eyes slipped to Sara; the witness to the crime. She was sitting dutifully in the chair next to his mother but was keeping her eyes low. Her lack of defense of his mother was all he needed to hear. Sara, whatever else, was honest. Though she was close to his mother, Rupert didn't believe she would bald face lie for her. Her only choice was to make the biggest of sacrifices – remain quiet.

He looked back at his mother. He asked, "How did Vanessa come up? Did Clarisse mention her, or did you?"

Brushing imaginary crumbs off her lap, the Queen answered petulantly, "What difference does all of this make? We didn't dwell on the subject."

He exhaled through his nose, knowing discussing the details was pointless. Bluntly he said, "You were rude, Mother. It was bad manners and entirely beneath you."

Hands on hips he turned away from her and paced in a loose circle. "And for the record, Mother, Clarisse and I only discussed her friendship with Vanessa because _she_ was willing to pursue it. The fact that I mentioned it to you didn't give you license to use it to embarrass her."

Unaccustomed to squirming under the questioning of anyone, much less one of her children, Katherine struggled mightily to keep the defensiveness at bay. She quickly scanned the room as Henri drank his brandy as if he were alone in the room, Etienne gazed into the fireplace and Sara seemed fixated on the carpet. No help anywhere.

She swallowed and deflected, "Rupert, Clarisse is in contention to become this nation's sovereign. In that role, she would have to deal with…uncomfortable conversations, so I felt…"

Rupert knew exactly the nature of the argument she was trying to build and was having none of it. Flatly, he cut her off mid-sentence. "Why didn't you ask Vanessa about her relationship with Clarisse?"

As unaccustomed to being interrupted as she was to squirming, Katherine closed her mouth slowly. She had no answer for that; none that would satisfy Rupert, at any rate. From the corner of her eye, she noted Henri rub the back of his neck as he lowered and shook his head slowly. Etienne snorted quietly. Sara was still playing statues.

After a moment of reviewing her options, and knowing that any further defense would just ruin the credibility she would need in the upcoming discussion, Katherine gave up. "Alright, Rupert. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought up their friendship. It was inappropriate."

Rupert was still angry but decided to be satisfied with his mother's apology. He wanted to go on and on about how she had been contrary from the get-go, treating him like a child as he attempted to make, possibly, the most important decision of his life. Where was his apology for that, exactly? Yet, knowing this night was going to be a long one, he decided he didn't have the strength to argue with her on two fronts so tried to let it go and moved to the corner to pour himself another brandy.

With her embarrassing admission out of the way, Katherine did intend to have her say about Clarisse. "Do you really want to know why I didn't ask Vanessa about her friendship with Clarisse? Because I didn't have to. Vanessa was so open that I didn't need a jackhammer to get to know her."

Rupert closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. "I don't even know what that means, Mother."

"It means, Rupert, that Clarisse was so…composed, that the only way I knew to get an honest reaction out of her was to ask her impolite questions."

Bottle of brandy in one hand and empty glass in the other, a light bulb seemed to go off over Rupert's head. "_That's_ why you were moping all evening? Because she was too _composed_?"

Leaning forward in her chair, Katherine said strongly, "Because she was absolutely impenetrable."

Rupert returned to pouring his brandy, wondering idly if his mother had indulged in a few before he'd returned. "That's ridiculous, Mother."

"No, it's not."

Running out of patience, he put the bottle down a little more loudly than was necessary. "Yes, it is, Mother. You spent the entire evening glowering at her, and then, when you had the opportunity to get to know her, you decided it would be more fun to try and upset her."

Katherine blinked, taken aback by how agitated he sounded. Trying to better explain herself she said slowly, "Rupert, what I am concerned about is the impression she gave. My job, as I saw it, was to try and see her - and Vanessa - the way Parliament, our ambassadors, foreign dignitaries and such would see her. Most importantly, I was trying to see both girls through the eyes of the people of Genovia. And I have to tell you, I have serious reservations about Clarisse."

Rupert sighed deeply, not understanding what she could possibly have against Clarisse, but unable to ignore the truthfulness of her explanation for her behavior at dinner. That was the role she needed to play, the role he knew she would play. He sat heavily in the armchair across from her. He crossed his legs and asked, "So, tell me, what are your reservations, Mother."

"Just what I said. She's impenetrable. There's something very guarded about her that makes it hard to connect with her."

Rupert shook his head, "That's an exaggeration. She may very well be reserved, but she's not impenetrable. I had very little trouble getting to know her when she and I met for tea."

Katherine said, "You have to think in broader terms, Rupert. The people of Genovia are not going to be able to sit down to tea with her. They are going to respond to the impression she gives and the impression she gives is blank…or a façade. She's got no genuine personality, none that she will allow to come through, at any rate. She is an amalgam of measured, appropriate responses and honed etiquette."

Etienne was loathe to jump into the fray, but, after all, Rupert did ask him to be at this dinner. Beyond that, he knew from talking to him that Rupert had already made up his mind that it was to be Clarisse. The man was going to need an ally, so Etienne leaped in with both feet. "Mother, what you are saying is that she's diplomatic and well mannered. How can that be a negative for a Queen?"

Having sat on her hands long enough, Sara chimed in, "I know what Katherine means. She's very controlled in the way she presents herself. _Too_ controlled. There might be a trust issue with Clarisse."

Katherine nodded, "Exactly."

Rupert looked at Sara and back at his mother. "How so?"

Sara jumped in, "Well, over the course of a three hour dinner, she offered very little about herself. I don't think I know anything more about her right now than I did when she showed up. One has to ask oneself why that is."

Rupert had addressed his question to his mother, but, unsurprisingly, got an answer from Sara. Before he could adequately remove the annoyance from his voice he said to his sister-in-law, "With all due respect, Sara, how much time did you spend talking to her?"

Sara kicked herself for jumping in too soon. How many times had Etienne told her to count to three before answering even the most banal of questions? She wished, more than at any other time, that she had remembered to do that now. With Rupert. With angry Rupert.

She backtracked, "It's true, I'm going on observations more than anything. I didn't get to speak with her as much as I would like, not being an avid horse rider myself. I'm just suggesting that perhaps it would serve her well to relax her poise a bit."

Rupert inwardly took a calming breath, noting Sara's attempt to smooth the feathers she'd ruffled. He said, "I see what you're trying to say. Yet, as Etienne said, I don't see how poise can be a detriment to a Queen."

Katherine shook her head, frustrated. "There is such a thing as being too poised, Rupert. It can come off as calculated, strategic. If people think she's only willing to venture appropriate and expected opinions, then they are very quickly going to dismiss her as either someone with no convictions, or, worse, as someone not dealing with people honestly; only telling them what they want to hear. "

Rupert was baffled as to where this all encompassing judgment was coming from. "Mother, you are wildly overstating things. Good Lord, under the circumstances, I think the fact that she was calm at all speaks in her favor. To say that her composure means that she's dishonest in her dealings with people is grossly unfair."

Etienne shook his head skeptically at his mother's prediction as he made his way over from the fireplace to the conversation area where they were congregated, "I agree. I don't think Clarisse comes across that way at all. I think, like with everyone, it will take time to get to know her.

Katherine addressed Etienne, building a head of steam, "Well, even if people don't come to those specific conclusions, the reaction she is likely to get is one of confusion as to who she is, which will lead to disregarding her entirely. Whether people are confused by her or feel that she's hiding behind a persona, not letting them see her real self, the result is the same. Mistrust. If one cannot get a handle on someone, they give up."

Sara nodded, "Just from first impressions, I think it would take a _lot_ of work to get a handle on Clarisse."

Katherine said strongly, "_Too_ much work, frankly. If it was difficult to read her sitting across a dinner table from her, how are the people of Genovia supposed to get a true sense of who she is by glimpsing her through their televisions? And how long do you think Parliament is going to give her before her reticence causes them to eye her suspiciously? Not to mention the Heads of State we rely on and who rely on us. If they don't feel, from the outset, that she is someone they know and understand, then they won't want to deal with her. That would be a fatal blow to the Crown, turning the Queen into a lame duck. No, it's too risky."

Rupert stood up frustrated with his Mother's staunch resistance. As far as he was concerned, the decision was made and his mother was going to have to find a way to make peace with it. Trying to get her to do that, however, was going to be much more difficult than he'd imagined. She wasn't going to be happy until she outright chose his wife for him, apparently.

Katherine, feeling that one prong of her assault had been successfully realized, began mounting her second. "Vanessa is all that Clarisse is not. She's very open and readable. Parliament, the international community and most importantly the people of Genovia will have no problem knowing exactly who she is and where she stands. The Queen needs to be unambiguous and accessible. Vanessa is that. Clarisse is not."

Rupert stopped his pacing, "You're speaking in such black and white terms, Mother. There is no reason to believe that Clarisse won't be accessible to the people. Perhaps not as immediately as Vanessa, but that is no reason to discount her."

Katherine acquiesced, "Perhaps not if Clarisse were our only option. But when you consider that Vanessa already is what the monarchy needs, why would you not opt for her? And that's not taking into account everything else that she brings to the table. She's energetic and forward thinking. She has so many exciting and vital ideas of how to move the country forward."

Rupert cut her off strongly, "As does Clarisse. If you were observing as closely as you say you were then you must have heard her thoughts about education and the rights of women and children. She's not someone who would simply tread water as Queen. She's a terribly bright woman with strong convictions, your snap judgement notwithstanding."

Katherine shot back, "None of that matters if she doesn't have the charisma to get anything done. She just doesn't bring the same level of vigor that Vanessa does."

Rupert countered loudly, "And Vanessa doesn't bring the same level of sophistication that Clarisse does."

Katherine huffed, exasperated, "Oh, now you're just being contrary."

Rupert was very close to shouting, "And you are not listening!"

They each figuratively threw up both their hands, rankled by the other's closed-mindedness. Katherine sat back dramatically in her chair crossing her arms and Rupert sulkily deposited himself in front of the painting Clarisse had eyed when waiting for him days ago.

The silence was heavy until a voice emanated from near the fireplace.

"I like Clarisse."

Everyone turned, as if surprised to remember that Henri was still in the room.

Noticing he had everyone's attention, Henri continued, "She relaxes me."

Katherine rolled her eyes and shook her head. While talking to Rupert, she'd been waiting for Henri to finally weigh in and add something of value on the matter. Too much to hope for, apparently. She muttered, "Good Lord, Henri."

Henri looked at his wife without apology. "She does. She's very calming."

Sara laughed, "Like a cup of tea?"

"Exactly, like a soothing cup of tea. Vanessa is like a jolt of hot coffee."

Katherine could barely contain her exasperation at Henri's musings. She needed help, damn it, to get Rupert to see reason and all Henri was doing was adding to the confusion with these ramblings. "Henri, please!"

As if he didn't hear his wife's voice, or the impatience within it, Henri explained further. "Coffee is a tempting diversion from the staid cup of tea, but having it everyday would be nerve-wracking."

Etienne tried not to laugh and draw his mother's ire. "Odd analogy aside, Dad, I think I see your point."

Closing her eyes, Katherine tried to maintain her patience, but didn't succeed. Temperamentally she sniped, "How can you see the point of something that doesn't make a whit of sense?"

Etienne looked at Rupert and shook his head. He turned back to his mother and said, "Mother, we're just adding a little levity, here. Why are you so irritable?"

She said sharply, "I'm not 'irritable', I am, however, getting very frustrated with the lot of you. This is an enormous decision and none of you seem to regard it as such. Your father is making analogies about beverages, you're encouraging him and _you_…" turning to address Rupert directly, she scolded, "_You_ seem to have already made up your mind without considering the ramifications your choice will have on the country."

Rupert's eyes flew open wide at his Mother's accusation. Stunned and infuriated by what he saw as her arrogance, he strode over to her, "That is an _outrageous_ thing to say, Mother! How dare you imply that anyone, yourself included, has put more thought into this decision than I have. That is offensive. For more than half a year, I have dedicated virtually every waking moment to making the proper choice for both the country and myself." He took a deep breath and walked back toward the bar, trying to compose himself. He turned and said through clenched teeth, "And, yes, for the record, I have made up my mind – Clarisse."

Katherine pursed her lips to keep from shouting, wanting to physically shake him out of his mule-headedness. "_That_ decision is just a contrary knee-jerk reaction to my having said I have reservations about her. If I'd kept my mouth shut and said nothing about Clarisse, you wouldn't be standing here impulsively spitting her name out at me as your 'proper choice'."

Rupert marveled at his mother's attitude; he could never remember her being so prickly and snide in his life. "Mother, what has gotten into you? Do you honestly think that I would base this decision on how much it would annoy you? I'm not 12 years old anymore. What the hell do you think is going on here? I have to make a decision on whom will best serve the country as it's Queen as well as whom will best serve me, personally, as my wife, and you are sitting here, apparently with a straight face, believing that I would make such an important decision right this instant, because I think it will make you angry? Jesus Christ, Mother. I cannot believe that I have to say it out loud, but let me assure you, as I told Clarisse earlier, nothing about this decision has been impulsive except when I chose to reveal it."

Katherine was about to forge ahead in her assessment of his foolhardiness when she suddenly realized what he'd just said. The penny seemed to take a moment to drop for everyone, and she noticed, one by one, Henri, Etienne, and Sara raised their eyebrows at what Rupert had just admitted. Katherine was almost breathless with shock as she stammered, "You…told Clarisse that she was your choice? You told her? Tonight?"

Rupert took petty and childish delight in the jolt he'd delivered to his mother. He didn't need to admit anything about his and Clarisse's discussion, but there it was. Not more than 30 seconds ago he had dressed her down for thinking him a child who would do something just to annoy her, and here he'd done just that. He would apologize later if need be, but at this instant he felt justified in using everything he could think of as a way to make his mother understand that this was a situation under his control, not hers.

Katherine looked around the room wanting to ask the rest of them if they'd ever heard of anyone doing such a stupid thing as Rupert had done. She was met with three identical looks of surprise and could practically hear their wheels turning, trying to calculate the ramifications. She was breathing heavily through her nose, not sure which, of all the choice comments that were currently struggling to get out of her mouth, would be the most forceful, the most pointed, to make clear the level of…dismay she was feeling.

She shook her head slowly and in a voice more composed than she thought it would be, said, "I simply cannot believe that you would let Clarisse leave here with the idea that she was your choice."

Rupert said calmly, "I don't understand why you cannot believe that, Mother."

Closing her eyes briefly to compose herself once more, she almost growled, "What makes you think that she is not, at this instant, on the phone with Vanessa, telling her this tantalizing bit of information? What makes you think she's not telling the world?"

Henri made a motion to say something, but Rupert heatedly cut in before he had a chance. "Mother, do you even hear yourself? You just spent the better part of the last 15 minutes telling me how circumspect and withholding Clarisse is. Yet, you now believe that this closed off and unreadable girl is the type to gossip to the first person she comes across? Wouldn't that make her the outgoing, gregarious person that you think this country needs?"

Katherine had had enough. She shouted for the first time in years. "You keep a civil tongue in your head when speaking to me! I will not tolerate this insolence from you. I don't even know what we're doing here! If the decision is made why did you bother asking us meet her? Or Vanessa? Or their parents? Or include us in this search at all?"

Rupert said heatedly, "I wanted all of you here because you are my family and I respect your opinions. I wanted to know what you thought about each of them, I wanted your insights so that I knew the issues I might face, whomever I chose. However, this choice is mine to make, not yours. I did not ask you to be here so you could decree who my selection should be as if it were coming down from the mount. I did not ask you here to usurp my judgement for yours."

Katherine snorted, "Throughout this process, you have made some very suspect decisions, Rupert, but rashly blurting out your thinking to Clarisse boggles the mind. Given the string of mystifying conclusions you've come to up to this point, your judgement _needs_ usurping by someone. Anyone."

Rupert again walked toward his mother and said pointedly, "So, then, this is about my faulty decision making in general? Tell me, Mother, what else are you angry about? What resentments are you siting on that is contributing to your insufferable mood?"

This time, Etienne attempted to step in and break the exchange but wasn't fast enough to get out in front of his mother. Katherine said passionately, "Do you really want to know, Rupert? I'll tell you. From the beginning, you have ignored eminently qualified possibilities – not even wanting to sit down with their families – and have given precious time and energy to the most confounding of candidates. It has been a heart rending thing to watch, _but_, that is what I've done: watch. Because we decided that this would be your choice. We trusted you. But after tonight and your egregious lack of discretion…" She let that statement hang in the air as she shook her head in disbelief.

Rupert put his hand in his pocket and regarded his mother. He was still angry, but genuinely curious as to her grievances. He'd thought that after he'd made his choice, one day in the future, the three of them would sit around and laugh at how differently they'd read the field. But, if this is how it was going to be done, angrily and accusatorily, then so be it. He was weary with the passive disapproval.

He took a sip of brandy, and prodded, "We'll deal with my egregious-ness in a moment. Who are you mourning the loss of on my initial list? And who are you resenting for having taken her place?"

Ignoring the needling tone that was vintage Rupert, Katherine said immediately, "Serena Kimbrough? Incredibly, she was left off your list yet the likes of Amelie Kent and Gillian LeConte were given serious consideration. Baffling, Rupert. _Baffling_."

He furrowed his brow, unable to believe that she was so passionately upset about these particular choices. As far as he was concerned, the status he'd relegated them to wasn't even remotely controversial. Thinking back, he explained simply, "Well…I'd heard positive things about both Amelie and Gillian in terms of their abundant good works. Put along side their excellence at school, they seemed to have the wherewithal for the responsibility of Queen. Amelie looked to have a refinement about her that made me want to investigate further. Gillian gave the impression of having a formidable work ethic; as I remember, she was involved in a dizzying amount of extracurricular community projects. But as you know, when I met each of their parents they weren't a fit. Amelie may in fact be all that I thought she was, but her parents were awful. Gillian's parents were very nice, though, they themselves didn't seem to think that the their daughter would thrive as Queen."

Katherine said impatiently, "Alright, putting aside the fact that neither Amelie nor Gillian had one outstanding trait to raise them above the crowd, I'll accept that you had your reasons to include them. But, there can be no justification for not pursuing Serena Kimbrough. She was arguably the single most qualified young woman in the 300 names that your father and I gave you and you just passed her by without a second glance, citing her involvement to get pears served at school as the reason to exclude her from consideration!"

Rupert stared at his mother in astonishment. He looked over at his father for some hint that she was joking, but he just shook his head slightly as if he'd heard this rant time and time again. He looked back at his mother, unable to believe that he had to explain what he had thought was so obvious. "Mother, are you telling me that you truly believe that I discounted Serena because of her middle school quest on behalf of pears?"

Katherine had the sudden feeling that she was about to be to look silly. His tone seemed to indicate that he and she had been, not only not on the same page, but in two different books entirely throughout this process. She remained calm as she eyed him suspiciously but strongly, "That's the explanation you gave me when I asked. What else was I to think?"

He exhaled a long breath, not knowing whether to be relieved or angry that they'd been at odds for so long over a miscommunication. He blinked rapidly, trying to explain himself. "Mother, I just assumed you would know that I was kidding about that. I'm not even going to delve into how insulted I am that you would think I would use such an idiotic reason to not meet someone otherwise qualified. I'll just say that you will be thrilled to know that I had a very good reason to avoid her candidacy altogether. A reason I was surprised that you hadn't uncovered, frankly."

Katherine looked at Henri completely confused and was relieved that he looked equally so. Exasperated, she looked back at Rupert. "What are you talking about?"

Rupert eyed his parents and could predict their reactions. He would have laughed were it not so ominous. "Well, as I was looking at the family tree in her folder, I noticed that there seemed to be a few notable links between names, maiden names, cousins; just some coincidences that rang a distant bell for me. So, I went to the archives and researched a little further back. What I found was that two generations beyond what was given in her file, her tree intersected the Von Troken tree."

The news hit like a bombshell. A horrified look rippled across Henri's face as he leaned forward in his chair. Katherine looked stunned as the color drained from her face. Sara and Etienne looked at each other as if Rupert just lapsed into a string of obscenities.

Etienne was the first to speak, "Jesus, Rupert."

Henri said, "Are you sure?"

Rupert nodded, "Yes, it's more than six generations back on her father's side, and a myriad of things would need to happen in a certain sequence for them to have a chance to lay claim to the throne but, nonetheless, I felt having even a distant relative of a Von Troken ruling along side me a bit too close for comfort."

Henri sat back in his chair with a thud. "I should say so." He looked over at Katherine asking her with his eyes how they could have missed such a thing.

Katherine was almost queasy with the revelation that her personal favorite was a…Von Troken. Her head swam a bit more as she thought of all the ways she had positioned Serena to be chosen by Rupert. If she had succeeded…if Rupert had been swayed…if he hadn't looked up her family tree…Catastrophic. There was no other way to describe what it would have been if Rupert and Serena had married.

She could barely look Rupert, or anyone else, straight in the eye. She managed to ask, "Why didn't you tell us this? When I asked, why didn't you tell me this?"

Rupert said gravely, "Because, as far as I'm concerned, my judgement that she was not suitable should have been respected, no matter what my reason."

There was almost a full minute of silence following Rupert's declaration. Finally, Henri let out a shaky breath, the same scenarios going through his head during that heavy moment as had gone through Katherine's. "Alright, I think we can put to rest the issue of Rupert's judgement; his admission to Clarisse aside."

Etienne attempted to stabilize the room by focusing the discussion on Clarisse and away from the devastating bullet the family mercifully dodged. He took a regrouping breath, sounding almost groggy when he finally did speak. "Regarding Clarisse…I will say that, at first look, telling her she was the one may not seem to have been the wisest thing to do, but really I don't see the harm in Clarisse knowing. Rupert was going to have to make the decision within the next day or so anyway."

Henri forced himself to stop dwelling on how they'd almost let a Von Troken into the palace and focus on the matter at hand. He cleared his throat and said, "Yes…I agree. None of the girls have proved themselves to be loose-lipped. There's no reason to believe that Clarisse would pick this moment to start speaking out of turn."

He paused and drew a breath, recapturing the thread of conversation that was interrupted by the Kimbrough matter. "As to Clarisse's suitability, more specifically, Katherine, your reservations, I think, yes, you make some good points. The fact is that Clarisse very well may have an image problem, but it's not something that can't be handled. She may need two or three public appearances to every one that Vanessa would need, but then, we set up more public appearances. It's as simple as that. The people are going to be extremely curious about whomever Rupert marries. That in and of itself will aid in people getting to know Clarisse."

Katherine stubbornly pushed Serena Kimbrough completely out of her mind and set about detailing to Rupert – and everyone else – exactly why he had made the wrong decision. And, uncomfortable conversation with Clarisse that it would require aside, why he should change his decision.

She shook her head, speaking to Henri slowly, as if he barely understood the language. "Why bother doing that if we don't have to? There is simply no reason to employ tactics that may or may not work on Clarisse's behalf when Vanessa doesn't require any of them. She's immediately knowable."

Following Henri's train of thought, Rupert weighed in again. "For the very simple reason, Mother, that being Queen is not a sprint; it's a marathon. I will concede that in the short term Vanessa would probably make the more exciting impression. She is vivacious and lively, and certainly the press will have reams upon reams of material given how 'accessible' she is. No doubt, also, the people would love to have such an open person on the front page every day, especially when they are at their most curious. But in the long run, Vanessa's brand of eagerness can be, at best, tiring, and at worst overbearing."

Etienne cut in, "That is something to consider, and not just as it applies to the people. You know, I can think of at least three members of Parliament who might not see someone like Vanessa as 'energetic', Mother, so much as 'pushy'. Granted, I haven't met the girl, but if she is, as you say, all that Clarisse is not, then it's a risk."

Henri nodded in agreement. "Well, I have met Vanessa and I can almost guarantee that Milnis, Chevers and Rayburn will be turned off by her outgoing personality. If not immediately, then after a time. You know how they are, Katherine. If Rupert installed Vanessa as Queen, we would have to employ just as many tactics to tamp down her personality as we might need to prop up Clarisse's."

Katherine knew that there was _some_ truth to what was being said, but argued passionately against the sentiment behind it. "That is exactly my whole point. Rupert, this is an opportunity to move the country forward, away from the entrenched roles we've always catered to. Up to now, a Queen hasn't had the freedom to be an independent voice in the government. With one fell swoop, you can change that. With Vanessa at your side you can signal to the Milnis', Chevers' and Rayburn's of the country that things have changed and will continue to do so. By marrying Vanessa you can say that it's a sin for an intelligent and strong woman to be muzzled. I _know_ you feel that way. I _know_ you do."

Rupert answered his mother just as passionately, "I do, Mother. Yes. But what you said about Clarisse holds true for Vanessa as well. 'None of that matters if she doesn't have the 'charisma' to get anything done'. There is more than one kind of charisma, Mother, and Clarisse has the charm to work with Parliament. I agree that Vanessa has an…infectious enthusiasm to go along with her intelligence, but Clarisse brings a refinement with hers that makes her far more versatile."

Sara could see that Katherine argument's argument was starting to founder. The Queen let out a breath and looked to her for help. She eyed Katherine sympathetically, wanting to come to her aid in some way – she would much rather have an outgoing fun-lover of an in-law in the family, herself – but she knew the Milnis' well enough to know that Henri was right. The whole lot of them, including the women, were chauvinists who thought that conservative, steeped-in-tradition little Genovia was fast becoming a suburb of Sodom and Gamorah. In fact, they believed the downfall started when Henri and Katherine flouted centuries of tradition by not arranging Rupert's marriage when he was in the womb.

She shrugged and said all she could say, "Katherine, I know that with my mouth, I would never pass muster with Parliament as a Queen. It sounds as if Vanessa might suffer from the same problem."

Rupert, Henri and Etienne all chuckled. Katherine did not. She looked at them all, genuinely upset. "I cannot believe that we are kowtowing to stereotypes and saying that an outspoken woman has no place in this government. If we as the Royal Family cannot stand and say that is wrong, then who can? The very idea that Vanessa cannot be Queen because she has too strong a personality is revolting."

Henri shook his head strongly, "That's not what we're saying, Katherine. There _is_ a place for outspoken men _and_ women in this government." He looked over at Rupert, as if trying to remember something, "Wasn't it Clarisse's parents that said she wanted to be the first female member of Parliament?" At Rupert's nodding, Henri looked back to Katherine, "Frankly, I think that's an ambition much more suited to Vanessa than Clarisse. Parliament would be a perfect venue for Vanessa's unrestrained exuberance. Not to mention her progressive ideas. She's strong minded, articulate, passionate – she was _made_ for Parliament, the more I think of it."

Katherine opened her mouth to say something in opposition, but found she actually agreed with Henri's observation. She wasn't sure whether she was relieved or annoyed that what he said made sense, but it definitely gave her pause.

Henri continued with focus, "Being Queen requires a deft touch. Vanessa, for all her strengths, does not come across as someone who possesses the level of finesse needed to fulfill the varied responsibilities as Queen. Clarisse most certainly does, in my opinion. Granted, this is based on only one dinner, but I think Clarisse has got complexity to her; there's a lot going on behind her appropriate answers and nice manners, Katherine. She's shrewd."

Katherine suddenly thought of Clarisse's blue dress. She would agree that shrewd was more than a fair description of Clarisse. Chagrined to find that she and Henri had, unknowingly, been on the same page about Clarisse, she had to admit that the girl might be more sophisticated than Vanessa in certain delicate situations. Yet, Katherine could not get past the opinion that she was lacking in so many other areas.

Leaning forward to address Henri, she said, "She is not strong enough to get her ideas across forcefully enough for them to be taken seriously. How can you not worry that she's too subtle to be an effective leader?"

Rupert almost laughed, "You're underestimating her, Mother. Just look at her CV – President of her junior and senior classes, Captain of the debate team, Editor of the newspaper – one is _voted_ into those positions. As subdued as she is, she managed to snare three very powerful _leadership_ posts at school."

Katherine looked away from both Henri and Rupert. She sighed and furrowed her brow as if that would somehow make her brain work harder. Scrambling to slam the door on the confounding Clarisse, knowing what a terrible risk it would be to put her on the throne, she almost pleaded with them to understand.

"The people are not going to be willing to spend time trying to decipher her true personality the way we, sitting here, are. They are not going to see her inscrutable face and translate that into shrewdness; they are not going to listen to her entirely appropriate but bloodless responses and think, 'Thank God she's not more outgoing, or she'd tire me out.' The people are going to be looking for certain things from their young Queen and they are not going to find them in Clarisse."

She paused a moment, trying to stress her point. Looking directly at Rupert, she said gravely, definitively, "She's going to come across as cold."

Rupert mulled over his mother's declaration. 'Cold'. She believed it, that much was obvious. She wasn't swayed by anything he or his father had said and he had to ask himself why. Could she be right? Was he reading too much into Clarisse's personality, supplying explanations that justified his faith in her? Was he staunchly defending his choice because he had impulsively told Clarisse he'd already made up his mind? Was that fact keeping him from seeing his mother's point of view? Yet, why, then, would he feel comfortable telling Clarisse that he'd chosen her? What prompted him to do that in the first place?

He forced himself to be honest in answering these questions, and in considering his mother's pleas…but the fact remained that he felt right in choosing Clarisse. Specifically thinking back to their discussion over sherry, he knew _then_ that it would be, that it _should_ be Clarisse. He wished he could tell his mother something concrete that Clarisse said or did to make her understand, but it wasn't anything as obvious as that that made Rupert want to undertake this enormous responsibility with Clarisse.

Knowing what he was trying to say, but without much idea of exactly how he was going to say it, he slowly attempted to explain. "_I_ think she'll come across as…reassuring. In talking to her tonight, before we sat down to dinner, that's exactly how I felt…reassured. I was telling her that I worried about the havoc I wreaked in my search. She didn't fall all over herself trying to convince me that I was wrong to worry, she didn't come over and hold my hand while I bemoaned my guilt, nothing so demonstrative as that. She just managed, somehow, to make me feel better. And she did it without lying to me."

Rupert's sincerity, his genuine effort to make her understand his reasoning was not lost on Katherine. Suddenly, Henri's reminder to her when she was fuming at Rupert's final 18 clanged in her head. 'He's not just choosing a suitable Queen, he's choosing a wife.' She knew she couldn't fight that. Whatever intangible qualities Rupert saw in Clarisse as a prospective wife were impossible for Katherine to refute or call into question. Again she lamented their decision not to arrange Rupert's marriage when he was a child. Letting Rupert arrange his own marriage had created the opening for the blasted intangibles to enter the equation and muddy the waters.

Henri interrupted her musings as she quietly said, "Katherine, you know better than anyone that the essential responsibility of the Queen, the responsibility that cannot be carried out by anyone _but_ the Queen, is to be the emotional touchstone of the people. You and I have been lucky, Katherine. There hasn't been a national tragedy during our reign. Hopefully that will continue for as long as we can reasonably ask, but whenever a tragedy occurs, the people always look to the Queen to know how to react. The King has the luxury of busying himself with the hands on work a tragedy demands, but the Queen has the much more complicated task of tending to the people's emotional well being. She must comfort and console, reassure and give courage. She must, through the sheer force of her bearing, promise the people that all will be well, that everything is in hand and they have nothing to fear."

He paused, perhaps allowing Katherine a moment to disagree, or even yell at him for explaining the role she had been occupying for over 30 years. He was surprised that she did neither, not taking advantage of his pause for any reason. She simply sat in her chair looking at him, waiting for him to continue. He ventured, "I think it will be Clarisse's composure that, in a time of crisis, will be her greatest gift."

Katherine was tired, suddenly wanting to do nothing more than go to bed. For a month. She resignedly looked at her son and daughter in law. "I suppose you both agree."

Etienne nodded, not without sympathy for the defeat in his mother's face, "I do. When you consider that she sat through dinner, making conversation with every one of us – and if you'll forgive me, Mother, wading through the less than comfortable subject of Vanessa – all the while knowing the responsibility of Queen was going to be her's…" He trailed off, not finishing his thought, feeling the circumstances and Clarisse's bearing throughout them spoke for themselves.

When Katherine's eyes slid to Sara, looking for her take on things, all Sara could think of was Katherine's question to Clarisse as to whether she was in contention for 'most popular'. Sara admitted, "She certainly has a certain 'water of a duck's back' air about her; it does seem as if not much is going to knock her off her stride."

Rupert broke the silence that followed. He sat down in the armchair across from his mother and took her hands. "Mother, trust me. I know what I'm doing."

Katherine could see that he really, truly believed what he was saying. She wanted to trust him, she wanted to believe that he'd made the right choice, but she was just as unconvinced as she was at the beginning of this tussle. Everyone else seemed to be swayed by what he'd said about Clarisse, so she allowed for the remote possibility that she was wrong, but she couldn't shake the feeling that the words 'I told you so' were going to be hanging in the air one day.

She said, "You might suggest to Clarisse that she practice smiling in the mirror. She'll need to retrain the muscles in her face to keep them from falling into a perpetual frown."


	16. Bold Predictions

Happy New Year everyone! As you can imagine, the holidays (and my birthday – whoohoo to all you Capricorns) severely cut into my computer time. Yet, I am still diligently plodding along with my story. I realized today that I took three months to write what covers a two week span in the story. Hope you all have the patience of Job.

Enjoy the latest!

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"Don't hate me, but I'm just not going to be able to make it this afternoon." Vanessa added with humor, "I do have a great excuse, though, don't I?"

"Oh, I can't think of a better one." Natalie said indulgently.

Vanessa further explained, "I know it's short notice, but I got the invitation yesterday morning and had to spend the rest of the day trying to move everything I was going to do tomorrow to later today. I did hope to be able to come, but It's just too much of a squeeze. I'm really sorry."

Natalie said, "Don't worry about it, Ness, I understand. Clarisse, Liz and I will meet and catch you up on whatever progress we make. If any."

Yes, Vanessa did have a fabulous excuse to miss today's bridesmaid meeting, but it definitely threw a monkey wrench into Natalie's plans. She hadn't been able to make much progress on her wedding lately, specifically with regard to dresses for herself and her bridesmaids. For one thing, her cousins Eileen and Brigit, bestowed the honor of being in her wedding because…well, her mother said they had to be, lived almost 150 miles away and couldn't do much more than be willing to wear whatever she chose and to show up at the appointed place and time.

As for the _rest_ of her bridal party, they were all tangled up in royal affairs of state. If Liz was right, she was being let off the carousel of prospective brides and thus was available for the foreseeable future, but both Vanessa and Clarisse were still going around. And around and around and around and around. Their royal audiences had become something of a log jam, actually. Natalie hadn't had a chance to hear about Vanessa's tea with the royal parents, never mind talk to Clarisse about her dinner with the family last night, when here was Vanessa, phoning to tell her that she wouldn't be able to come over today because she was going _back_ to the palace tomorrow for yet _another_ tea with Rupert.

That left just herself, Liz and Clarisse to wade through the obscene pile of bridal magazines strewn across her bed. That was assuming Clarisse didn't call and say she wasn't coming because Rupert had challenged her to a rip roaring game of badminton on the royal grounds. As Natalie shook her head in resignation, Vanessa cut into her reverie, joking, "With all this tea, I swear I'm going to be floating away!"

Natalie quipped, "Think of poor Rupert; we could dub him Prince Earl Gray at this point."

Vanessa laughed, "Well, the good news is, I think you'll soon have one of your bridesmaids back full time. The palace is going to be making a decision soon. If they haven't already."

Natalie said, "Well, things are certainly moving at a brisk pace."

Vanessa laughed, "Oh, you have no idea. Clarisse must be as frantic as I am. How's she holding up? I haven't had a chance to speak to her since that day in the Union."

Nat smiled, noting it was the first time Vanessa had spoken _about_ Clarisse since that day in the Union. "Oh, she's fine. You know Clarisse."

Vanessa chuckled, "Yeah, I know Clarisse. Tight lipped as usual?"

Natalie said, "Well, no, not really. She's just keeping it all in perspective. Clarisse never counts her chickens."

Vanessa mused, "Hmm. Word is that she had dinner with Their Majesties last night?"

Natalie smiled to herself again. She knew it would only be a matter of time before Vanessa asked about Clarisse's side of things. "Yes, she did."

Not quite casually, Vanessa asked, "How did it go?"

"Honestly, I don't know. I haven't caught up to her yet." Taking a gamble, knowing Vanessa's sense of humor was in short supply when she was under stress, Natalie said with a small laugh, "Why? You worried?"

"Actually, no."

Natalie stopped. Vanessa's tone was undeniably not worried. In fact, she sounded remarkably calm. This was new. Vanessa was never what one would call calm…even in her calmest moments. She was animated in her sleep, for heaven's sake – grinding her teeth, talking, tossing and turning – and that was in the carefree days of art camp. _These_ days were not carefree ones; she was hours away from her third tea with the Prince. So…why so calm?

Natalie attempted to fill space while she mulled Vanessa's newfound serenity. "Well, I guess you've got no reason to worry. With all the teas you've logged at the palace, they must be old hat by now."

Still with an air of nonchalance Vanessa responded, "I think this tea will be my last. Officially, at any rate."

Natalie shook her head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I think tomorrow is when I find out Rupert's choice."

Natalie's eyebrows slowly raised as she leaped to the conclusion as to why Vanessa was so relaxed. Finishing Vanessa's thought for her, Natalie said, "…and his choice is you?"

Vanessa answered coyly, "I'd say that was a smart bet."

Natalie opened her mouth to ask 'just what makes you think that?' but knew that would sound wrong, as did all the variations she could think of on that question, so settled for, "So…then your family tea went well, I take it?"

Vanessa's serene confidence didn't waver as she explained, "Oh, very well. Very, very well, in fact. Her Majesty and I got along like a house afire – and I that was the key. She simply runs that palace, let me tell you. The minute I got there, I knew hers was going to be the deciding vote and I'm sure I got it. I swear, Nat, it was like she and I already knew each other. We were just so comfortable together."

As Vanessa expounded on just how much she and Queen Kate had clicked, Natalie listened, confused. She'd never really considered the idea that Vanessa would be chosen. As accomplished a woman as Vanessa was, Natalie had been sure it would be Clarisse. Or…maybe she just hoped it would be? No, no, she _felt_ it would be Clarisse. She still did. Yet, there was no denying the confidence in Vanessa's voice, confidence that she hadn't felt comfortable airing out until this very moment, which in and of itself was significant. It seemed to Natalie that Vanessa had taken a page out of Clarisse's book and played this whole royal marriage business very close to the vest; she'd never gone into too much detail about what happened at the 'meetings', other than to say vaguely that things had gone well and was confident she'd be asked back for the next 'round'.

At the moment, however, she was unabashedly regaling Natalie with a story her good friend the Queen had related about some royal dinner where she clumsily stepped on the hem of a foreign dignitary's wife's dress, tearing the priceless fabric to ribbons, and, oh, how embarrassing it was for all involved. Vanessa was talking as if she had been the woman's daughter-in-law for years.

Natalie scratched her forehead, not sure what to make of all this, but decided to play along. "Wow, Vanessa…I guess early congratulations are in order, then?"

Vanessa chuckled, "Well, none of this is official, mind you, so, as usual, please don't tell anyone. I just have a _really_ strong feeling about this." After a pause, Vanessa said, "I know you probably hoped it would be Clarisse."

Natalie answered truthfully. Mostly. "No, no, either way, Vanessa, I'm happy. I'm so proud of both of you. Liz, too. It's so …special. This thing that's happened. If it's you, Ness, I couldn't be more thrilled for you. And Genovia."

Not indicating whether she believed Natalie's sentiment, Vanessa said simply, "Thank you."

After a short silence, Vanessa suddenly wondered aloud, "You know, I'd be curious to hear what Clarisse's read on Her Majesty was; how she felt she came across to Katherine."

Keeping up her end of this puzzling conversation, Nat offered, "Well, I'm sure that Clarisse came across as charming as she always does. From what you say, though, it sounds like you and Her Majesty got along exceptionally well."

Vanessa agreed whole-heartedly and proceeded to enumerate all the ways that she and Clarisse were different and to make guesses as to what her new best friend Katherine would make of Clarisse, based on said differences. 'Relaxed' Vanessa sounded like she had a lot of stamina, so Natalie settled in for the long haul.

Listening to her ruminate on Clarisse's strengths and weaknesses, Nat thought that Vanessa must be well nigh _convinced _that she was the chosen one because, before today, she had diligently avoided any and all Clarisse-talk. And Natalie knew why: Vanessa just didn't want to hear that Clarisse was doing well. Even more, Vanessa wouldn't want Clarisse to know anything about how she herself was doing…because Clarisse wouldn't mind to hear that Vanessa was doing well. Vanessa absolutely did not want it on the record for all the world to see, that Clarisse knew how swimmingly things were going for Vanessa and wasn't rattled in the least.

That was always the thing with Vanessa; she was fiercely competitive. With everybody. She and Liz were forever fighting it out on the swim team, and she managed to make an enemy for life in Maryellen Cahill by aggressively campaigning against her and winning the Latin Club's Vice Presidency. Vanessa had even contemplated joining the Math team with the ill-advised notion of staging a coup and taking the Captain-ship away from Natalie. Luckily for Vanessa, cooler heads prevailed and convinced her of her foolhardiness.

Yet, more often than not – much more often than not – Vanessa won whatever she was vying for and, consequently, she ran their high school. No one, except perhaps for Gillian, was more active on more committees, clubs and groups than Vanessa. Certainly, no one held more 'crowns' (for lack of a better word), no one was more visible and no one was better liked than Vanessa. She did win Most Popular, after all.

However, the few very public tilts that Vanessa did lose, she'd lost to Clarisse. She didn't _always_ come out the loser when they went head to head; Vanessa was put in charge of the 125th anniversary commemorative yearbook with Clarisse assisting; and the faculty did choose Vanessa as the only student representative on the committee for the Foreign Exchange Student Program. But the power positions…the prestigious titles that jumped out at you from a resume…the titles that _Clarisse _set her sights on and made an effort to snag…they all went to Clarisse.

Valedictorian? Clarisse. Salutatorian? Vanessa.

President of Junior and Senior classes? Clarisse. Bested opponent both times? Vanessa.

Editor of the newspaper? Clarisse. Assistant Editor? Vanessa.

Captain of the Debate Team? Clarisse. Just one more of the seven members? Vanessa.

Her Royal Majesty, Queen of Genovia? Well, to hear Vanessa tell it, the tide had turned and she was on the verge of handing Clarisse a defeat more humbling than any she herself had suffered.

Natalie thought it would behoove Vanessa to remember one very undeniable fact: If it was true that no one was harder working or more popular than Vanessa, it was equally true that no one was more respected or well thought of than Clarisse. A fact that Natalie knew absolutely mystified Vanessa, as did most things about Clarisse.

Everything Vanessa had accomplished was a product of enormous effort in service to an elaborate, well thought out strategy that put her at the right place at the right time in front of the right people whenever possible. If the role of Queen could have been won by sheer determination and effort, Natalie would have bet the proverbial farm on Vanessa every day of the week, twice on Sunday.

Clarisse, on the other hand, steadfastly – idealistically, even – believed that substance trumped style, that squeaky wheels didn't deserve the oil, that the steak was more satisfying than the sizzle. She let her accomplishments speak for themselves, believing obvious, self serving machinations unnecessary; almost unseemly.

Clarisse's life philosophy was one that Vanessa thought was…cute, but foolishly naïve. Until she realized that when it came to Clarisse, who neither squeaked nor sizzled, it held true. Clarisse wasn't on half as many committees, didn't glad-hand with half as many people or work half as diligently at positioning herself for a bright future as Vanessa did…yet had everything and more of what Vanessa was laboring so hard to get, seemingly without effort.

Natalie wondered now, as she had on and off since this whole royal competition began, if it was Vanessa's competitiveness which over the years had matured into finely honed ambition, coupled with a desire, once and for all, to trump Clarisse that had fueled her hunger for the crown. Because, as fervently as she seemed to want this, Vanessa never seemed to talk about things like her desire to serve the country, or pet causes that she hoped would get the spotlight they deserved, or even just the honor of being considered. Or, for that matter, Rupert. She never seemed to talk about Rupert. An odd omission given that she would have to marry the man to get the crown. It was as if he, like Genovia One, came with the job; he was just the guy on the next throne. Vanessa had said she and Queen Katherine were comfortable together as soon as they sat down to tea. Just like Clarisse described how comfortable she and _Rupert_ were when they met. Natalie began to wonder if Vanessa might be focusing on the wrong Renaldi. Surely Rupert would have _some_ say as to whom he married.

Mentally weighing different ways to ask Vanessa about her and Rupert's relationship, Natalie was stumped. Vanessa could get very edgy with people she saw as taking a tinkle on her parade…and Vanessa would have said something if she and Rupert had 'got on like a house afire.' Wouldn't she? The fact that she hadn't mentioned Rupert had to mean that they weren't unusually simpatico, yes? Was Vanessa insecure on the Rupert front and hiding it so it wouldn't get back to Clarisse? Perhaps, but Vanessa's confidence that she had the throne locked up seemed genuine to Natalie.

Natalie waffled on whether to tell Vanessa about Rupert wanting to meet Clarisse early to talk. She wasn't even sure if Vanessa knew Clarisse met not only with his parents but his siblings and sister-in-law. If she told Vanessa these things and Vanessa already knew, she might see it as Natalie trying to burst her balloon and be resentful of her lack of loyalty. If she didn't know…well, there was no way that Vanessa could ignore the implications. Those facts would _have_ to change her read on things. Being ambushed with this info, after so boldly predicting her ascension to the throne, would embarrass her and cause her bruised ego to lash out at Natalie. Natalie was sure of that.

Vanessa was Natalie's good friend. Truth be told, yes, Clarisse was her best friend, but Vanessa was a cherished mate and had been for over eight years. Until this moment, Natalie had managed to keep from getting in between her friends in this particularly delicate situation, but at this moment, she was worried that her cherished mate might be setting herself up for a crushing blow. Clarisse, she could absorb a loss like this. She was level headed enough to remember all that she was capable of accomplishing, but for someone as high-strung as Vanessa, especially if she'd convinced herself that the throne was all but hers, losing this could be utter devastation.

Nat needed to check in with Clarisse…now. She needed to try and find out which of her two good friends were going to be hurting in the next few days.

TBC - Soon!


	17. Playing Handball

Never again am I going to promise an update 'soon'…too much pressure. One little thing comes out of left field and the next thing you know, I haven't been at my computer for a week!

Some business…this and the last chapter were supposed to go together, but I got bogged down with the Natalie/Clarisse part, so jettisoned the Nat/Vanessa segment early. Here is the N/C section for your reading pleasure…

(By the way, Clarisse and Rupert and Genovia are not mine, but pretty much everything else is…not that it does me much good; I'm still making no money).

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Standing on Natalie's front doorstep, one hour early as the bride had requested, Clarisse waited for the door to open so the bridesmaid festivities could begin. Roughly 24 hours ago, she was actually looking forward to this very happy day of picking out dresses for her best friend's wedding. Right now, however, all she wanted was for her betrothed to be standing in front of her so she could kick him right in the…uhm, shins for impulsively telling her she was his choice.

She sighed heavily, staring down the street at nothing in particular. It was no use getting upset about it now and to be fair, at first she herself hadn't realized the downside of his telling her last night. As a matter of fact, with the suspense over and done with, it was somehow easier to get through dinner with his family, his mother's obvious ambivalence toward her notwithstanding.

It was as they walked to the car at the end of the evening, chatting privately, that it began to dawn on her in how delicate a situation she found herself. One of the last things he had said before she left was that he 'needed to rely on her continued discretion' with regard to the particulars of their discussion, especially now. Rupert absolutely did not want anyone – the public, parliament or the candidates – finding out his decision from the press, which had been mobilizing to break the story. He went to great pains to assure her that he didn't think anyone she might tell would intentionally leak anything, but rumors had a way of spreading like wildfire and even one slip of the tongue could set things off. His request was a perfectly reasonable one, to be sure, but when she got home and faced her parents…and had to lie to them, she felt slightly heartsick.

If someone ever asked, she would have said that she was a terrible liar; someone who gave herself away at the first attempt at deception. Not true, evidently. In fact, by all appearances, she was quite good at it. Granted, she dabbled mostly in the 'lie of omission' variety, but it upset her that she did it so smoothly and successfully. Her parents didn't blink an eye when all she said was that she had a wonderful time and expected to hear Rupert's decision very, very soon. The two people who had known her longer and better than anyone on earth saw nothing on her face that indicated that she was hiding something. Looking into their trusting faces, especially her father's, as they accepted everything she had said as if the thought never occurred to either of them that she might not be entirely truthful, broke her heart.

Pacing restlessly on Natalie's front stoop, she mentally tried to prepare to do it all over again with Natalie, Vanessa and Elizabeth at this damnable bridesmaid meeting. As uncomfortable as she was with the knowledge that she was a good liar – and knowing she would very probably not make it through this afternoon _without_ having to lie – she worried that she might not be as successful hiding the truth from Nat, not to mention Vanessa, as she was with her parents. Neither of them would be blinded by the unconditional belief that Clarisse was as good as gold like her parents were, not to mention the fact that Nat and Vanessa each had access to behind the scenes palace info and would know if her story strayed too far from the truth. The overwhelming complexity of this seemingly innocuous meeting of bridesmaids left Clarisse feeling, for the first time in her life, that being vague was beyond her and that no matter what she did, she'd give herself away. Just standing alone on the front step she felt exposed, like she was wearing a big crown on her head.

The door suddenly opened and Clarisse jumped as if goosed. Natalie looked surprised and smiled at her friend. "Ha, two for flinching." She tapped Clarisse's arm playfully.

Clarisse breathed out and said with a laugh, "Yes, you got me."

"Come on in." Natalie took in Clarisse's slightly bloodshot eyes and the dark circles beneath them. As they walked the stairs to her room, she said, "You look tired."

'Well, that didn't take long', Clarisse thought. 'I'm here less than one minute and I already have to lie to my best friend.' It was little consolation to Clarisse that she only needed to lie by omission – fast becoming her personal milieu – as she neglected to tell Natalie _why _she didn't sleep, instead telling her what she did to fill the time. "I _am_ tired. I was up more than half the night finishing my part of the Assistant Director's speech and had to proofread my paper for International Relations. I have to hand it in Monday."

Natalie took significant note of the uncharacteristically frazzled tone in Clarisse's voice and smiled sympathetically as she held her bedroom door open for her, "It's tough being a renaissance woman, eh?"

"Mmm, the deadlines are a killer." Clarisse plopped inelegantly onto Natalie's bed and was immediately buried beneath the mountain of bridal magazines that she'd disrupted. She smiled at Natalie in comical amazement. "Heavens!"

Natalie laughed sheepishly, "I know, I know. But I think between the three of us we'll be able to make a dent."

Clarisse looked up puzzled, absently trying to restore order to the heap, "The three of us? Who's not coming?"

Natalie casually took a seat at her makeup table but watched Clarisse carefully as she said, "Vanessa. She had to move a bunch of things from tomorrow to today and we got squeezed out."

Clarisse stilled and looked at Natalie for a moment, not sure how to proceed. The good news, of course, was she didn't have to face Vanessa. The bad news was that she suspected what fate held in store for Vanessa tomorrow. The other very important thing Rupert had told her last night, and partly why he wanted her to say nothing to anyone, was that he planned to meet with Vanessa to let her know his decision as soon as possible. Vanessa's schedule juggling was probably that very thing.

Clarisse needed to say something and decided it wasn't _completely_ unbelievable that Vanessa just might have a dentist appointment tomorrow, so, strictly speaking, her question wasn't disengenuous. "Oh, has she got something to do tomorrow?"

Having just been given the perfect opportunity to kick this conversation in the direction she wanted, Natalie took a breath and said, "Yes…she's going to the palace for tea with Rupert."

To the untrained eye, it didn't look as if Clarisse had much reaction at all to the news of Vanessa's return to the palace – she simply dropped her eyes to focus on what her hands were doing – but Natalie wasn't an untrained eye. She had to quiet the urge to sigh out loud as 'the veil', as Elizabeth called it, fell across Clarisse's face. Oh, God…'the veil'. Everyone had a strategy for dealing with conversations they didn't want to have, but Clarisse's practice was particularly frustrating. She would morph into a handball court; everything you'd throw at her would come right back – with a whole lot of backspin. She was never rude in any way, she just quietly shut down her side of the information flow. Usually, by the time people realized they'd spent a considerable amount of time doing nothing more than returning their own serve, the subject had changed. There truly is an art to formulating completely empty responses, on the fly, while still appearing to be making conversation and Clarisse had perfected it.

As if reading Natalie's mind, Clarisse slowly nodded her head and said with bland humor, "Ah, I should have known. It _is _the hottest place in town these days."

Telling herself that if 'the veil' was in place, there must be a good reason and she needed to remain patient, Natalie decided not to strangle Clarisse for giving such a feeble wit to her parry. With difficulty, Natalie kept her response as equally light and pointless as Clarisse's. "Yes…can you believe she has to sit down to another tea? Vanessa joked she'd be floating away soon, but I told her I was more worried about the Prince."

Clarisse smiled dutifully, but was wrestling with … a few things, actually. At the moment, nausea topped the list. Somehow, actually knowing that Vanessa was off to the palace tomorrow made this whole thing _real_ in a way that even hearing it from Rupert's mouth had not. Her stomach did a barrel roll at the thought that the last obstacle on her path to the throne – her competition – was set to be removed.

Guilt followed hot on the heels of the queasiness. She was no longer able to tell herself that a lie of omission wasn't a destructive lie. She had to let Vanessa go to tea tomorrow, as if she was about walk in front of a truck, and not say a word. She could give Vanessa no warning, no words of caution that might soften the blow. She felt like the most horrible of friends.

Yet – having discovered a formidable talent for rationalizations alongside her ability to lie – she told herself perhaps she was being arrogant and condescending by assuming Vanessa would even need her help. After all, Vanessa was a remarkably astute young woman and may already have a hunch which way the wind was blowing. She should feel guilty for thinking she needed to 'save' Vanessa.

She felt twice as guilty for trying to let herself off the hook by thinking that, but the only thing that made her able to face Vanessa at all was desperately clinging to the hope that the girl might know what was coming. Clarisse asked tentatively, "So…Vanessa was excited about being asked back to the palace?"

"Mmm-mm, sure, yeah."

Natalie had been paying more attention to Clarisse's general bearing than to what she was saying, thinking that would garner more clues, so she didn't give her answer much thought, until she heard it. It struck her that Clarisse's question was rather odd. Of course Vanessa was excited to be going back to the palace – she was beside herself, in fact. Why wouldn't she be? Somewhere in the back of her head, Natalie could hear a distant alarm bell ringing telling her she was missing something, but at the moment wasn't able to figure it out. This is the way things were when you were on the opposite side of the 'the veil'…scavenging for bits of subtext like they were breadcrumbs.

Natalie bided her time, asking what she thought was the next logical question, "Soooo…what about you?"

Clarisse looked at Natalie for a moment with a blank expression and shook her head, "What about me, what?"

Not sure if Clarisse was being deliberately obtuse –damn veil – or genuinely scatterbrained, Natalie said patiently, "Are you going back to the palace?"

Clarisse scratched behind her ear and continued to fumble with the now neat as a pin pile of magazines, deciding helter-skelter that the truth would do for this answer, "Oh! Yes, yes. Uh, yes. Rupert asked me to go riding the day after tomorrow."

Natalie stared absently at Clarisse. Riding? What the…? Rupert asked Clarisse back to the palace the day _after_ Vanessa was to share tea with him – to go riding? The alarm in Natalie's head was louder now, but she still wasn't sure what to make of it. She stalled for time, trying to figure out why her head was telling her that all of this sounded strange. "Wow. Riding is certainly a…change of pace for the two of you."

Clarisse said with a slight laugh, "Yes, it is. I can actually wear pants to this get together."

Natalie scratched her forehead, as her mental alarm kept nagging at her. Something just wasn't right; with either of her friends. They were acting so odd. The previously guarded Vanessa was now openly expecting to enter into marriage with Rupert. Clarisse, who had been optimistic and positive, was now cagey and vague. Vanessa had spent two weeks doing contortions in order _not_ to talk about Clarisse but today couldn't shut up about her. The always gracious Clarisse had asked how Vanessa was doing every step of the way, but now seemed to be uncomfortable with the mention of her name.

One – or both – of them knew something. Vanessa's confidence coupled with Clarisse's skittishness would lead Natalie to think that they both knew that Rupert had chosen Vanessa. Yet, the facts didn't stack up that way. Why would Rupert ask Clarisse back to the palace – to go riding, of all things – a day after meeting with Vanessa? If Rupert was going to break the news to Clarisse that he'd chosen Vanessa, wouldn't he do it before he spoke to Vanessa? Perhaps not, but would he do it while horseback riding? Would he give bad news in such a casually friendly circumstance?

Or was he more likely to give bad news in a more formal, polite setting. Like over tea?

Okay, she didn't know, but her gut told her that no one, especially one trained in diplomacy and etiquette, would lead someone to believe they were going to have a wonderfully carefree afternoon of riding just to tell them they came in second in the bridal sweepstakes.

Unless they had all come to an understanding? Maybe Clarisse knew he'd chosen Vanessa, but she and Rupert had become close enough friends that they felt comfortable riding together? And, Vanessa was alright with that? Uh…no, that didn't seem very likely.

Besides, even if against all odds that scenario were true, Natalie damn well knew that Clarisse would never – ever – allow anyone to see her looking tired or nervous or scatterbrained over not having been chosen. And, as strange as it may seem, she wouldn't invoke the power of 'the veil'. She would never risk leaving the impression that she couldn't or wouldn't talk about the subject. No, she would put on her bravest front. She would smile and accept everyone's sympathies without once squirming, she would offer her unfettered congratulations to Vanessa throwing her full support and loyalty behind her new Queen. She would make sure that everyone remembered that she handled herself with grace and class. And she would do all these things never – ever – letting on how deeply hurt she was.

_That_ Clarisse was not the Clarisse in front of Natalie now. The Clarisse in front of her now was not steadfastly holding onto her dignity like she would a life raft in stormy seas…no, this Clarisse was distracted and preoccupied. This Clarisse seemed to be fretting. Like she had…a lot on her mind.

Natalie cocked her head to one side as something quickly came into focus. Clarisse had a lot on her mind, yes. Lots of things. Things bigger than worrying about saving face. Much bigger things.

Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding! The blasted internal alarm bell was blaring so loud now that she could barely think.

The veil, the veil…the veil. Why was she hiding behind the veil? _What_ was she hiding beh…?

Natalie suddenly looked up at Clarisse, a look of unabashed 'eureka' on her face as the alarm suddenly stopped and Natalie's mind was filled with silence. She had finally stumbled onto the one thing that made sense. Clarisse wasn't hiding her hurt or worry that she wasn't going to be chosen. No, she was hiding the fact that she thought she _was_ going to be chosen.

Or…that she already knew she had been chosen.

In an instant, it all seemed so obvious; if Clarisse were still waiting to hear Rupert's decision she would be calm and collected, fully prepared to react with courtesy and respect if he chose Vanessa. The only thing that would leave Clarisse frantic, unable to remain stoic, would be the reality – the very fact – that he had chosen her. Vanessa just talked herself into believing what she wanted to believe; Clarisse knew.

Forgetting all thought to being coy, Natalie decided to go at the veil head on with a verbal battering ram. She leaned forward slightly, looking intently at Clarisse, "So, what exactly is this meeting for? Why is Rupert asking the two of you back?"

Natalie watched Clarisse blink and actually lean back a little. She was clearly caught off guard by the directness of the question and was trying to come up with a response. Natalie's patience exhausted, she didn't even wait for it. "Vanessa thinks she's going to tea tomorrow to hear Rupert's decision."

Clarisse felt like she'd been leisurely walking on a treadmill that suddenly was kicked into a canter. Trying to keep up the pace of Natalie's questions and comments, Clarisse considered, discarded and settled on answers haphazardly, hoping that nothing came back to bite her. "Yes, yes, that's what I expect as well. He needs to make the decision soon so that…"

Picking up on Clarisse's old trick of attempting to slow down the conversation with sheer quantity of words, Natalie interrupted, "Vanessa thinks he's going to choose her."

Clarisse closed her mouth and said nothing, trying mightily to hold Natalie's gaze without giving anything away. She took a breath, needing to get on top of this conversation before she blurted out something that she shouldn't, not to mention also needing a moment to digest what Natalie had said – and the implications. Vanessa told Nat that she thought she would be Queen. That was something altogether unexpected. And intimidating. A confident Vanessa was something Clarisse knew better than to discount. She was, frankly, curious as to Vanessa's thinking. When she felt she had a better grip on herself, she asked, "Really. Did she say why? If you can tell me; I understand if she asked you to keep your conversation between the two of you."

Ignoring the urge to laugh at the idea that Vanessa _wouldn'_t want Clarisse to know that she was supremely confident, Natalie plowed ahead, "She said that she and the Queen got along exceptionally well. So well, in fact, that she was sure that she had Her Majesty's blessing, and with that blessing Rupert would see his way clear to choose her."

Clarisse stared at Natalie, fascinated, trying to absorb the irony that the person she hadn't managed to hit it off with at dinner was the person Vanessa was looking to as the reason she would be chosen. It was priceless. It was also a bit worrying. What if Vanessa's instincts were right? Or at the very least, not entirely misplaced. Undeniably, the Queen, not someone to be mistaken for a shrinking violet, was not taken with Clarisse. She would weigh in heavily to Rupert as to whom she thought would be the better choice, which was apparently Vanessa. Rupert had made his feelings known, and Clarisse had no reason to doubt Rupert's word, but that was mostly because they hadn't known one another long enough for him to give her a reason to doubt him. By the same token, she didn't know him well enough for him to give her a reason to trust him, either. She had no way of knowing if he would or could go against his mother's wishes, if it came to that.

Natalie cut into her thoughts, "What."

Clarisse looked up and said, "Oh, I was just thinking about Vanessa and the Queen getting on so well."

Natalie asked seriously, "Why? What about it?"

Clarisse took a breath and admitted, "Well, Her Majesty and I _didn't_ get on so well."

Natalie furrowed her brow and shook her head. This was yet another oddity in a day simply teeming with them. Parents _looooooved_ Clarisse. Natalie believed that Colin's mother would promise the Good Lord just about anything if He would be so kind as to wallop her son with a mighty dose of the warm and fuzzies for Clarisse, even now with Natalie wearing his ring. _That's_ how much parents loved Clarisse – yet, evidently, the de facto Mom of the country…didn't like Clarisse?

The words coming out of her mouth sounded like something the old Natalie would say to the old Clarisse, but this conversation was nothing like the old days, "Well, I'm sure you're being overly wary, as usual, Clarisse."

Gazing at the floor deep in thought, Clarisse said casually, "No, not at all. She didn't like me very much."

Natalie said nothing, confusedly watching Clarisse. For the first time that day, Clarisse seemed her normal composed self, outwardly not undone by Vanessa's optimism and deprecatingly accepting of the Queen's apparent disdain. Natalie was starting to get whiplash. All she could think to say was, "What makes you think she doesn't like you?"

Clarisse shrugged, "It was nothing she said, of course, just an impression. She seemed to be watching me more than listening to me. Like she was waiting for me to do something she wanted to see." She paused for a moment and looked at Natalie. She surmised with a smile, "I imagine if she responded so well to Vanessa, then she was waiting for me to become an extrovert."

Natalie mulled that over for a minute, "Well, you and Vanessa are rather different. If the Queen puts a premium on being a lampshade on the head type, then it would make sense she'd gravitate to Vanessa. What matters more, though, is what Rupert puts a premium on, I would think."

Clarisse nodded, her gaze absently falling back to the floor. She looked up again and asked quietly, "So, Vanessa is certain she's going to be chosen?"

Natalie said simply, "Yes." When Clarisse said nothing, Natalie stated, "But you know better."

Clarisse's mouth dropped open without her being able to stop it. She could only hope the shock she felt at Natalie having figured out her big secret came across as surprise over such an outlandish assertion, "God, Nat…what are you talking about?"

Saying the same thing a different way, Natalie went in for the kill, "Did Rupert tell you that you were his choice?"

Achieving the rare feat of delivering an answer that was both candid and deceitful, Clarisse dodged emphatically, "Good Lord, Natalie, what would make you think something like that?"

"Did he?"

Clarisse sighed with exasperation, scrambling like mad to come up with something. Anything. Never had she hated a question more. She was nonplussed as to how to answer it. The truth was not an option and Natalie didn't seem vulnerable to lies of omission at the moment. Clarisse could think of no way to answer Natalie without a bald faced lie; something she had never done to Natalie and something she had been struggling mightily to avoid since she'd arrived.

Embarrassed and ashamed, Clarisse realized that Natalie had known all along she was hiding something. What had flown right by her parents was caught with both hands by Natalie, there was no denying it. The tone in Natalie's voice indicated her questions weren't casual ones, they were pointed and loaded and had trapped Clarisse too neatly to be offhand musings.

She was almost physically struggling with the guilt she felt over not being able to be forthright with Natalie. She wanted to tell her everything; not even because she wanted Natalie's counsel and help, but because this was an amazing thing and she wanted to share it with Natalie. She _wanted _to tell Natalie that Rupert asked her back to the palace to meet the press secretary so the three of them could discuss how to handle the introduction of their relationship to the press. She _wanted_ to tell her that Rupert asked her to go riding because as far as he was concerned the official search was over and the business of their social life together had begun. She wanted to sit here and be completely immature and ridiculous about the fact that one of them was actually going marry a real prince, but the unavoidable fact was that she simply could not tell Natalie the truth. Not right now.

Clarisse sadly relinquished something indefinable within herself forever as she accepted the fact that the best thing she could offer her friend was a lie that was still as close to the truth as possible. Using Vanessa's take on the situation as a excuse for her deflection, she said with a quiet sigh, "I don't know what he's ultimately going to decide."

Natalie picked up on something in Clarisse's statement, "But you left the palace under the impression he chose you."

Clarisse sidestepped, pleading in so many words for Natalie to stop pushing, "The only thing I can say is that he told me he made his decision."

"So, if he made his decision, then Vanessa's rapport – and your lack of it – with the Queen mustn't have mattered to him."

Clarisse sighed through her teeth, desperately trying not to be bullied by Natalie. She loved Nat dearly, but sometimes her staunch friendship toppled over into browbeating. It was clear that Natalie wanted Clarisse to say that Rupert had already chosen her, but she couldn't – she wouldn't. She'd promised Rupert that she wouldn't tell anyone, and he was right to ask that of her. If she was going to join the monarchy then she had to respect it and do what she could to protect it. It could function no other way. There was entirely too much at stake to risk this information getting out at the wrong time by the wrong messenger. The horrible thing was that she couldn't even try to explain that to Natalie because it would confirm exactly what Clarisse was precariously trying to keep from saying.

She felt like she was going to fall apart under the weight of all this lying. In reality, she knew in a few days, when the truth came out through the proper channels, Natalie would understand. All her friends would understand why she couldn't say anything. They weren't unsophisticated bumpkins, it would make perfect sense to them that she needed to keep silent. What was really tormenting her, what had saddened her from the moment she got home last night and realized she couldn't be truthful with her own parents, was what this lie meant, what it portended. She knew that this was how it was going to be for the rest of her life. From this moment on there would always be a distance, a chasm between herself and everyone else. Her family, her friends…they would be no exception. There would forever more be things she couldn't share with them, parts of her life that would need to be kept from them, times when she would have to outright lie to them. That they would probably understand all of that and that it could be no other way was of little consolation to Clarisse's very sad heart at that moment.

Looking at Natalie now, she cemented the commitment she made to Rupert to marry him and rule the country with him by denying her best friend the confirmation she wanted. She took a breath and enunciated slowly and firmly, "What Rupert said was that this decision was not one that was going to be made by committee. He said it was his decision and he would make it. I believe him."

When Natalie looked to forge ahead with another comment, Clarisse raised her hand to stop her, "_But_…I don't know what happened at the palace after I left. His mother might have pleaded Vanessa's case and made him see that she was the better choice. I just don't know."

Natalie leaned back in her chair and looked at Clarisse. She wasn't going to admit it, Natalie could see that clearly enough. She was making verbal pretzels out of her words struggling _not_ to say it. It dawned on Natalie in that moment that perhaps she _couldn't_ admit it. This was a very volatile a bit of information – the name of the next Queen. Surely, she would be under a gag order of some sort; even an informal one. Natalie rather ungenerously thought that if Rupert did tell Clarisse she was his choice, then he had sent her out into the world with the equivalent of a jar of nitroglycerine to carry around – all by herself, unable to ask someone to help her with her burden. And she hadn't. Natalie didn't know the man and didn't know if he would be the type to do such a thing, but if this was some sort of test that Rupert was giving Clarisse, then he should know that she passed with flying colors. She hadn't said anything that would put the palace in a compromising position, Natalie's attempts to get her to do that very thing aside.

With that thought, she started to feel like an awful best friend. Good Lord. What the hell was the matter with her? Real best friends didn't put their best friends in impossible positions. Natalie felt even worse as Clarisse continued to try and explain with a weariness in her voice, "I just don't know, Natalie. I mean, Rupert and I seem to have a genuine friendship between us, but perhaps Vanessa is right and his mother will ultimately sway this decision. This is, after all, about more than just Rupert and his wife. It's about the monarchy and only those within it can know what considerations should come into play. Like I said – he told me this was his decision to make. I've decided to believe him."

Clarisse finished with a slight shrug as if to say, again, 'who knows?' and, in that moment, sitting on Nat's bed like she had a thousand times before, decked out in her jeans, the orange turtleneck Natalie always told her made her look pale and her well worn penny loafers, Clarisse looked very young to Natalie.

Without warning, the protective instinct that Natalie always had for her friends, particularly Clarisse, washed over her. In a panic, the way she would grab onto only her most prized possessions if a tornado was bearing down on her home, Natalie selfishly hoped that Clarisse wasn't Rupert's choice. She prayed Vanessa was right; that the Queen was in charge, that it would be Her Majesty's vote that would decide the matter and that her vote would be Vanessa; that Clarisse would stay and be a student and a speech writer and a Maid of Honor and Godmother to Natalie's children and mother to Natalie's Godchildren and her partner in crime at every holiday and birthday and barbecue Natalie threw until the two of them were too old to eat spicy foods anymore.

Natalie closed her eyes briefly and let her panic subside because she knew that wasn't the way things were going to happen. Clarisse didn't need to admit it out loud for Natalie to know, deep in her bones, exactly what Clarisse's destiny was. Clarisse was going to be the next Queen, and that was good, that was right. It was the way it should be, for both Clarisse and Genovia; no matter how disconcertingly she looked like the young girl who had spent countless afternoons with Natalie in this very room talking, laughing, crying, studying, gossiping. Growing up.

She found herself close to tears as she looked at her complicated friend. Her friend, who some thought of as innately unflappable, who blushed when Nigel Egan talked to her, who many thought was too smart for her own good, who caught people by surprise with her humor, who left the impression on some as being cold and unfeeling. Natalie knew better than all of them. She knew Clarisse was both more and less than all of those things and if Natalie couldn't wish that Clarisse was not Rupert's choice, then she was going to wish that Rupert understood that; that he took the time to understand Clarisse; that he simply took good care of Clarisse.

Natalie would have started blubbering all over the place if Clarisse hadn't interrupted her maudlin reflections with a shaky sigh. As Natalie swallowed the lump in her throat she wondered if she'd ever survive having a child, knowing that at some point you had to just let them go. Shaking her head, she cleared her throat before trusting herself to speak. "What's the matter, sweets?"

Clarisse shook her head and exhaled a long shaky breath, "The next few days are going to be…insane."

Natalie nodded and decided to put Clarisse out of her misery and end this discussion. She struggled to put some lightness to her voice as she quipped, "Oh, don't worry about it. We'll find the perfect dresses; just _look_ at all those magazines!" At Clarisse's blank stare, Natalie deadpanned, "Oh, you're still talking about the whole 'monarchy in the balance' thing. Jeez and crackers, Clarisse, can't you ever talk about anything else?"

Clarisse almost heard the 'click' of the two of them settling back into their old selves again. She sighed, "I do beg your pardon."

Natalie smiled, "I'm just saying, if you don't want us to be walking down the aisle in our all-together come September, I need you to stop straightening that pile of magazines and start wading through it. We need dresses, woman!"

Clarisse immediately grabbed a magazine and flipped it open. "Yes, ma'am."

"That's more like it." Natalie grabbed a magazine off the pile for herself to peruse. After a few moments of silence, Natalie said, never taking her eyes off her magazine, "Should I save all these magazines for you?"

Clarisse rolled her eyes and warned, "Don't start all this again!"

Natalie said with mock seriousness, "Well, you're going to need to be prepared. We both know he's going to choose you."

"If it is me, my first official act as Rupert's wife will be to send you to the gallows."

"Before you sign the order, just look at this bridesmaid dress; it would look perfect on me!"


	18. The Agony and the Ecstasy

Hello all! Remember me?

I have no excuses, just writer's block, frankly. It took me some time to hammer this out.

Just to recap because it has been sooo long, this is not unlike my '20 minutes in Genovia' shtick from a few chapters ago. The twist is that this is the same day from Clarisse's and Vanessa's points of view. Said day being the day after Vanessa finds out from Rupert that she is not his choice.

If I had foresight enough to have named my chapters this one could be called, "The thrill of Victory, the Agony of Defeat." Not every original, I know, but apropos.

I hope you are still interested in the story, because though it may seem like I've abandoned it from some of my more egregious delays in updating, I have not. I am going to finish this God forsaken story if it kills me. (Or you guys!).

Enjoy,

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18

"You know, you're quite good!" Rupert said as he and Clarisse dismounted their horses.

Clarisse smiled, "You sound surprised. Didn't you hear me telling your father that I'd ridden competitively?"

"Yes, I did, but I…underestimated you, I guess. Next time we ride, I'll saddle up Daisy, our most spirited horse. Fury, here, is a joy to ride, but a bit of a mellow animal." Rupert amiably patted Clarisse's horse.

Clarisse chuckled, "How in the world did such a mild mannered horse wind up with the name Fury? For that matter, why is your most spirited horse named Daisy?"

Rupert smiled as he removed the bit from his own horse's mouth, "Well, Fury came to us already named; his owner must have had high hopes for him. As for Daisy, my parents told Madeleine she could name the next horse we acquired and she decided on Daisy before the creature even made it to the stables."

Clarisse nodded in understanding, "Ah, I see. Madeleine doesn't hold much store in the idea that one's name reflects their personality, then?"

Rupert nodded, "Mmm. Especially given that Daisy is male."

Clarisse burst out laughing, "Oh, no! Really?"

Rupert asked, "Yes, can you imagine? Etienne and I begged her to reconsider, out of a sense of male solidarity, you know?"

Clarisse said through her laugher, "Of course."

Rupert shook his head regretfully, "She just wouldn't listen. What can I say, she was young at the time and you just can't reason with a nine year old."

"No, I guess a nine year old girl just wouldn't understand."

He motioned her toward the stable door for their walk back to the Palace for lunch. They strolled quietly for a few moments, enjoying the first real warm day of the year, when Rupert said, "I took the liberty of asking Marcel to join us for lunch, rather than having a separate meeting in my office. I hope you don't mind."

Clarisse shook her head, rather preferring to meet the press secretary in a less formal setting. "No, I don't mind at all."

"Oh, good." He hesitated for a moment, "There is something I want your opinion on, Clarisse; before we meet with Marcel."

Clarisse looked over at him, "Alright."

He said simply, "Well, I wanted to get your thoughts on how I should go about talking to your parents about our understanding; especially as regards your father."

Clarisse raised her eyebrows and nodded briskly, "Oh, yes, definitely we should talk about that."

"I have some ideas, I just need you to tell me if they are good ones or not."

"Okay."

Having never been in this position before and feeling a bit unconfident, Rupert began tentatively, "The way I see it, though it won't be made public for a while, I would basically be asking your father for your hand in marriage."

Clarisse said nothing, but seemed to smile slightly which Rupert took as her concurrence in his assessment of the situation. "I don't want to make him uncomfortable with some creaky, old fashioned dog and pony show, mind you, but I do want to show him the proper amount of respect."

Clarisse nodded, "Of course."

He shrugged, hoping if he was wildly off the mark in his instincts, she would be kind, "I'm sketchy on the details, but the plan that seemed to ring most appropriate, at least to my mind, was that I should go to your parents' home. I don't want to summon them to the palace, in other words."

Clarisse nodded slowly, "That sounds right."

Rupert took a quick glance at her, "I've gone back and forth about whether or not you should be present when I speak to them. What is your feeling?"

Clarisse was silent for a long moment, deep in thought, "Frankly, I don't think I should be there."

Rupert muttered, "I was afraid you would say that."

Clarisse expanded, "I think, in fact, that my mother shouldn't be there for the actual 'asking'. Perhaps both she and I could be there for some 'preliminaries' but then excuse ourselves so that you could speak to my father alone. I'm not sure how that would work, but my gut tells me you and my father should be alone at some point."

Rupert shook his head skeptically, before lapsing into silence for a time. It wasn't as if he disagreed with her instincts, quite to the contrary actually, but meeting with Lord Mignionette alone was as daunting a task as he'd had to undertake in quite a while. He looked over at her, "In that case, I need to know one thing: when I do ask him for your hand, how likely is it that he will say 'no'."

She laughed sympathetically, "Not very likely. It's just that, I think my father feels that so much of this has happened without his involvement. To have you speak directly to his role in all of this I know would mean a great deal to him."

Rupert asked cautiously, "I know it's a bit late to be asking this, but are your parents happy about our marrying, or possibly marrying?"

Clarisse nodded, "My mother will be thrilled; I don't think she ever considered the idea that this _wouldn't_ happen, if I may be so bold." She paused before continuing more slowly, "My father and I, frankly, haven't discussed the subject. I know from my mother that he just wants to be sure that this is what _I_ want, which it is of course. As long as he knows that, he'll be content. Beyond that, even to my mother, he hasn't said much about things."

Rupert nodded, but said nothing. Clarisse shrugged self-consciously, "He's just always been a bit protective. Honestly, he would be acting the exact same way with anyone who wanted to marry me; his…lack of excitement has nothing to do with you personally."

"I understand, Clarisse. You're his only daughter. I imagine he's having some 'Daddy's Little Girl" melancholia."

"Well…yes."

Rupert took a breath after a long pause, "Alright, then. Here's the plan: I'll send a note exclusively to your father, tomorrow morning, asking if I may call upon him. Assuming he says yes, I'll ask him – alone – for your hand. Again, assuming he says yes, I'll then ask him if I may speak to your mother and inform her of my intentions." He looked at her and explained, "I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but it doesn't sound as if your mother would be offended by my speaking to your father first. And by doing things that way, I can…well, address your father's very specific stake in all of this by speaking to him man to man."

She was looking at him, but said nothing. He shrugged and asked simply, "So, what do you think?"

She smiled warmly, "I think that sounds perfect."

He exhaled, "Oh, thank God." He noted the humor in her face at his relief, "Honestly, Clarisse, more than anything else I have to do, I want to get _this_ right."

She smiled warmly at him, "That's sweet."

Without missing a beat he said, "That's me."

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Vanessa woke up still tired and groggy as she blearily looked at her clock which read a rather late 11:37 in the morning. She groaned irritably. Her mother let her sleep late and Vanessa knew why, which did nothing to help her mood. As she threw her legs heavily over the side of the bed she wondered how it was that after 19 years a mother could have no idea how her daughter would prefer to handle a situation. She knew her mother was only trying to 'help' by giving her time to regroup before having to get out of bed and face the world again, but Vanessa was still annoyed.

She meandered into the bathroom and was unsurprised by the frazzled person looking back at her from the mirror. The fitful night's sleep she'd just spent was written all over her puffy face. Yet, despite her hair looking like she'd deliberately put knots in it and her sunken eyes not quite focusing like they normally did, her gut told her that spending the day alone in her room was the exact wrong thing for her to do right now. She'd already missed two classes and didn't want anyone speculating as to why she may not have been up to going to school today. Her gut said she needed to get out and be seen doing all of the things she would normally be doing.

Of course, relations between herself and her gut were a bit strained at the moment, given that it was her gut that led her to make a complete idiot of herself in front of Natalie. She looked away from her reflection as her puffy face turned bright red at the memory of boastfully telling Natalie that she thought yesterday's tea was to be her last official one. She wanted to die remembering how magnanimous she thought she was being by consoling Natalie over the fact that it wouldn't be Clarisse.

She quickly turned around and jerked the shower curtain aside to turn on the water. She focused herself on the task of regulating the water temperature, trying desperately to blink away the hotness welling behind her eyes.

Clarisse.

She would be fine as long as she didn't think about Clarisse. As soon as she figured out how to get a grip on the urge to burst into frustrated, hopeless tears at the thought of Clarisse, all would be well.

Not even when Rupert told her 'the news' did she cry. She was mortified and baffled and angry…but she did not cry. Why would she cry, after all? She wasn't in love with Rupert, so her heart wasn't broken. She wanted to be Queen, yes, but when Rupert mentioned his seemingly genuine belief that she could be an extraordinary parliamentarian, she was heartened and intrigued by the possibility. By the end of their tea together she had calmed the internal storm caused by the unexpected news that she was not his choice and graciously told him that she had enjoyed their time together and wished him well. She warmly asked him to give her best wishes to Her Majesty and he smiled when he told her his mother would be glad to receive them. His parting comments to her were that she was a remarkable young woman and he both looked forward to and dreaded the day when he would be battling her in Parliament.

She left the Palace focused exclusively on girding herself for the public aftermath of the Prince's decision. It wouldn't be easy facing everyone but she would play it off as best she could. There was no accounting for taste, after all, so she really had no reason to be embarrassed or feel rejected. As to her counting yet to be hatched chickens, so what if she was wrong in her assessment? People make mistakes, yes? Well, she didn't make many, so she was due. Thankfully – very thankfully – she hadn't been as bold in her predictions with anyone else as she had been with Natalie and felt safe in assuming that Nat wouldn't rub salt in her wounds.

Yes, her ego was sporting a sizeable bruise and she had some uncomfortable moments ahead, but, as the Prince himself had said, she was a remarkable young woman. She could more than handle whatever was in store.

All of that would be true…if it had been anyone else but Clarisse who was the beneficiary of her bad fortune; as usual. If it had been Elizabeth or the Maneras girl she wouldn't be standing here looking like the bride of Frankenstein, struggling to keep her lip from quivering and straining her neck muscles to force the lump in her throat to go away.

She abruptly jumped into the shower hoping that the cold water would make her feel uncomfortable or shocked or annoyed – anything but sad. She hated sad and she hated hopeless. Yet, sad hopelessness was what wafted through her every time she thought of facing Clarisse – a woman evidently put on this earth to act Vanessa's own personal albatross.

She started washing her hair, more gruffly than was strictly necessary, as her mind relentlessly ticked off all the coveted treasures she had lost to Clarisse over the years. It was a list she was long familiar with, one currently running in her head in order of occurrence but one she could recite alphabetically or by level of importance or by humiliation factor. It didn't matter what particular prizes were lost; none of them were relevant anymore. It didn't even matter _why_ it was she'd lost them; Vanessa had learned long ago that people attributed intangible, indefinable qualities of incomparability to Clarisse. Vanessa saw no such qualities, but had grown accustomed to others seeing them, so, it wasn't the unjustifiable deference people paid to Clarisse that made Vanessa impotently fume.

It was picturing Clarisse's reaction to _this_ exceptionally high profile and decisive victory that made Vanessa want to…well, slap her hard across the face, frankly. Vanessa could see it clear as day…Clarisse's unadulterated phoniness as she modestly claimed ignorance as to why things turned out the way they did. The condescension as she consoled Vanessa with some lame platitude about how she had so much going for her. The oppressive smugness that Clarisse wore like a cloak as she stubbornly refused to celebrate her victory.

Vanessa knew she was in for a heaping helping of Clarisse's particular brand of obnoxiously arrogant self-deprecation with _this_ news. And it wouldn't last for just one day, or one week or one year. It would be for the rest of Vanessa's life as a Genovian; a Genovian subject; h_er_ Genovian subject.

Relief flooded through her as she realized that she no longer wanted to cry. She did, however, need to calm down because, while the sadness was gone, sheer fury had replaced it. It just wouldn't do for her to be seen publicly giving Clarisse the long awaited cuffing she so deserved; something Vanessa wouldn't be able to restrain herself from delivering if Clarisse was in front of her anytime soon.

Trying to put thoughts of Clarisse out of her mind altogether, she focused on the task at hand; facing the world.

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As Clarisse and Rupert sipped iced tea and waited for the press secretary to join them, he explained, "This isn't an 'official' briefing as yet. This is more to just give you a chance to meet Marcel and get the lay of the land, prepare you for what is coming. We'll both get an idea of what groundwork Marcel has laid with the press and what he recommends for our introduction as a couple."

She said nothing, trying mentally to prepare for the 'launch' phase of her relationship with Rupert, but was, of course, at a loss to call upon anything in her experience that might help. As much as she craved the comfort of controlling the minutiae, there was a certain giddy freedom in knowing that, in this instance, all she could do was go with the flow. She tried to harness that feeling and use it to keep her nerves in check.

Rupert sensed something was going on behind Clarisse's calm demeanor, and peered dramatically into her face until she looked up at him. "Are you nervous, Clarisse? It's so bloody hard to tell with you."

She smiled, "Actually, I was about to start being nervous, but since I have no idea what's coming, I don't really know how to go about it _getting_ nervous."

He laughed, "Well, if you _were_ nervous I was going to say that there is no set boilerplate for how to do this, so we are not locked into anything that would keep us from announcing the news the way we want. You, Marcel and I will come up with the most efficient, honest and comfortable way of telling the country that you and I have chosen to marry."

When he saw her smile he asked, "What?"

She shrugged, sounding a little silly to herself as she tried to explain, "I just like the way that sounds – '_…that you and I have chosen to marry.' _– even if it will be a hard sell."

He looked over at her, surprised by her observation. "What do you mean?"

She explained what she thought was a rather obvious conclusion, "Well, I think most people would categorize this marriage as strictly a business arrangement. One in which you are making all the decisions."

Rupert frowned slightly, "Is that how you would categorize it?"

She was surprised by how seriously he seemed to ask his question, not meaning to give him pause. She opened her mouth and closed it again, considering her answer. "Well, I did at first, yes. And to be truthful, it's difficult not to see it that way when talking to someone about the subject. Let's face it, Rupert, the country is waiting with bated breath to hear who you will choose to marry but no one is in any suspense over whether your proposal will be accepted."

Rupert furrowed his brow at how comfortable she seemed with the people thinking that he merely threw a rope out into the masses and lassoed her for a walk down the aisle . She wasn't necessarily wrong in her reading of the country's mindset, but it disappointed him to think that she thought of it that way. It disappointed and hurt him, he was mildly surprised to discover.

He was about to comment but stopped when Clarisse finished her thought, "It's only when I'm alone and thinking about it, or here at the Palace living it that I don't think of it that way."

He raised his eyebrows, "And how do you think of it, if I may put you on the spot."

She took a breath, "Well, of course, there is a certain amount of arrangement involved in our relationship, but that part of it is no longer…relevant." She saw the look on his face, listening intently but not necessarily understanding what she was trying to say. She tried another tack, "Do you remember the invitation that you sent asking me to meet your family? You wrote a note at the bottom?"

He wasn't entirely sure what she was getting at but did remember the note, for what it was worth. "Telling you I'd arranged for a car to pick you up early? That note?"

She nodded strongly, "Yes. Exactly. When I think of that, none of this feels 'arranged'."

He shook his head, not doubting the sincerity in her voice, but still a bit mystified as to why such a small thing would make any difference whatsoever. "I don't understand. Why?"

She shrugged, "I don't know. It's hard to say exactly why, but…just the fact you wrote it. After all, you could have asked me to come early before I left the Palace the day we had tea together. Or, in fact, not have asked me to come early at all. When I read it, I just felt… like you and I were going into dinner together, as a unit, a team. Some might say a couple."

Rupert perked up immediately, "Yes, that's how I intended things to be at dinner. I would never leave you to the tender mercies of my family all by yourself."

She nodded with a smile, "Well, mission accomplished, because from that point on, for me, things between us have seemed less arranged and more…real."

"Yes, I know what you mean. I suppose that's why I felt comfortable telling you before dinner that I'd made my choice."

She smiled, "And why I accepted your invitation to dinner even after you told me I had a choice not to pursue any of this."

He cocked his head with a smile, "Well, then. We are on the same page after all. You stopped me for moment, Clarisse. I thought…well, you seemed very comfortable with people thinking that you are a part of this because I decreed that it would be that way."

She clarified, "Well, I'm not 'comfortable' with people thinking that, but I'm not 'scandalized' at the possibility that they do. Perhaps coming into the royal fold from the outside has given a slight slant to my perspective. After all, I grew up fully knowing that your parents' marriage was arranged when they were children, as were your grandparents', and great-grandparents'. Arranged marriages are a very open part of being royal, so it wouldn't be unreasonable for the people to assume that you and I are no more than a formal arrangement."

Rupert said, "True enough. But given that neither one of us feel that way about this relationship, I think we can convey to the people the sincerity of our engagement. As long as we don't overdo it with hearts and flowers and whatnot."

She smiled, "No, I don't think shmaltz would look very natural on either one of us."

He shook his head, "No, not at all."

She hid a smile as she watched him fastidiously straighten his jacket and cross his legs. When he saw her looking at him, he said, "What?"

She teased, "I was just thinking you might be a little more schmaltzy than you let on." She laughed and shook her head, "Wounded that I considered us strictly an arrangement."

Caught, he tried to maintain as much manly dignity as he could, "I was not 'wounded', just a bit surprised. I will admit to a small, very small, reserve of sentimentality; not schmaltz, mind you, but sentimentality."

She nodded with amusement, "I see. Sentimentality."

He said briskly, "Nothing wrong with that."

"No, of course not."

He conceded, "Not that I would want the world to know that I cry every time I see Casablanca."

She laughed out loud. "Oh, Rupert, you do make me laugh."

Still very serious he said, "It's a sad movie, Clarisse. I am only human after all."

She burst into fresh gales of laughter, picturing him crying as Humphry Bogart walked off into the mist.

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Vanessa walked into the Student Union half expecting a spotlight to blaze into her eyes and an announcement made that the runner up for the title Her Majesty, Queen of Genovia had just entered the room. That didn't happen of course because, as Vanessa reminded herself, no one actually knew anything. The campus population had pieced together various bits of information enough to know the names of most of the parents who'd been asked to the Palace as well as the final four girls who were asked to meet with the Prince, but beyond that, nothing.

Vanessa just needed to remember that as far as everyone was concerned, she was still in the running. She wanted to maintain that illusion for as long as possible, because if this morning's wild mood swings were any indication, she was going to need a few days to get used to the idea that she wasn't chosen. After getting dressed and putting on some make up, only to come 'this close' to bursting into tears again, Vanessa came to the horrifying conclusion that the best way to ensure that she held it together in front of people was to ask herself...'How would Clarisse handle this'? It made her furious to think that she could learn anything from Clarisse, but when it came to never outwardly registering any real, human feeling, Clarisse was the undisputed champion. Vanessa didn't doubt for a second that behind Clarisse's well-mannered façade she always pettily wallowed in Vanessa's misfortune, so in order to swallow the bitter pill of having to emulate Clarisse, Vanessa reveled in the irony that by using Clarisse's own tricks she would be denying the girl the satisfaction of seeing Vanessa squirm. It was a complicated ruse to maintain, trying to outsmart her own mind, but it had gotten her as far as the Student Union.

She surveyed the crowd and immediately saw none other than Natalie, sitting at a far table with Gillian. She was nowhere near stable enough to handle chatting with Natalie – second only to actually talking to Clarisse in terms of conversations she wanted to avoid for the rest of her life. If Natalie asked how her tea went, Vanessa would have to own up…if Nat didn't ask, she would figure it all out by the fact that Vanessa said nothing about it. No; no way; not now.

She made a second scan of the room, ready to leave if it bore no viable fruit, when she saw Amelie Kent and Serena Kimbrough sitting off to her left. She almost clapped her hands in glee at discovering this advantageous port in her own private storm. Amelie and Serena were most definitely not in Clarisse's fan club; not even before this whole royal marriage business. Yes, _that_ was the table she needed to join.

As she turned to make her way over to Serena's table, out of the corner of her eye she saw Gillian wave toward her, presumably to ask her to come and sit. Vanessa pretended not to see her, but her heart sank. The bell had been rung; the toothpaste was out of the tube; it would do no good to close the barn door. Gillian and Natalie would now be speculating why she didn't come and sit with them. Or worse, they'd come over and join her at Serena's table and…and…and, oh, forget it. It didn't matter anyway. Everyone would know soon enough. She just didn't want to deal with the sorrow and the pity right this second.

When Serena saw Vanessa making her way over, she smiled and waved for her to come sit. "Hey, you. How have you been? It's been so long since we've seen you."

Vanessa sat in the chair offered, "Hi. I know, I know. I've been okay; just very busy."

The royal subject being the only one worthy to speak of lately, Serena said significantly, "So I hear."

Vanessa registered her understanding, taking a glance at the still very pallid looking Amelie. "Yes, yes. Exactly."

Serena plowed ahead, "So…how _are_ things with His Highness?"

Vanessa blurted, "Not going that well, actually." She spoke so naturally and without thought that she was surprised how painless it was to say it out loud.

Serena sympathized, "Oh, no! Why not?"

Suddenly Vanessa seemed able to put a spin on things that sounded so plausible that she couldn't believe that she didn't think of it before this second. Casually she shrugged, "It's just a feeling, really. He and I just don't seem to be…clicking, I guess. There's just no…chemistry."

Amelie perked up for the first time, "Really? I hear he's a very charming man."

Vanessa shrugged, "He is, he is. But…"

Serena looked crushed, "No chemistry at all?"

Vanessa mused, "No, not really. It could still happen, I suppose, but I'm not entirely sure I want it to, you know?"

Amelie said dreamily, "I can't imagine not wanting His Highness to choose you."

Vanessa eyed Amelie's slightly unfocused face, wondering if she'd come back to school a bit too soon, but answered casually, "Of course, if he called upon me, I would say yes. There is the country to think about, but as I say, I'm…ambivalent at best."

Serena sat back dejectedly in her seat, "Oh, damn it Vanessa, please tell me it's not going to be Clarisse."

"Well, it could be. It very well could be."

Serena looked at Vanessa's resigned face, "That's the way you think it's going to go?"

Vanessa conceded, "Frankly, yes."

There; it was done. She'd just effortlessly admitted the whole ugly truth…and it was no big deal. She couldn't believe how upset she'd been this morning. Of course, she was speaking to people not exactly in her inner circle, or who were going to trip over themselves detailing all of Clarisse's outstanding traits, but still, it was good to know that not every conversation about the subject was going to be torture. There were people out there who would be disappointed that it wasn't Vanessa who would be the next Queen, and those were the people she needed to be around.

Serena shook her head in resignation, "We should have known, I guess. Clarisse always acted like she already _was_ a Queen, doing the rest of us a favor by walking among us."

Vanessa chuckled, "That's very true."

Amelie said vaguely, "If it is Clarisse, I guess she won't be able to finish out the term."

Serena looked at Vanessa, "Well, there's something to be grateful for!"

Vanessa laughed out loud, "Whew, Serena. I had no idea you hated Clarisse so much."

Serena shrugged, "Oh, I don't hate Clarisse. She's just such a…she's just so…_annoying_."

Vanessa smiled, "Yeah, I know; so superior."

Serena nodded and concluded, "Well, don't feel bad Vanessa. If he does choose Clarisse, it's probably because His Highness wants someone he could control. You know how she is; she has no…gumption; no brass, you know? No spirit."

Vanessa liked the way that sounded. "No, she doesn't. She's got an impressive resume, but she's definitely not feisty."

Serena sounded very sure of herself as she surmised, "Not at all. It would make sense for him to choose her, really. She's a safe choice. No offense, Vanessa, but Clarisse is much more of a do-bee than you are. Perhaps he thinks you wouldn't be quite so… pliable as she is."

Vanessa was feeling better and better about coming over and joining this little klatch. "Well, pliable is one thing I am not."

After a slight pause Serena wondered, "It's either that or – could it be – the Prince has 'chemistry' with Clarisse? Can it even be possible to have chemistry with Clarisse?"

Vanessa shrugged, "Well, it would be a stretch…unless 'chemistry' isn't a biggie on the Prince's list of priorities."

Serena said, "That's got to be it." She leaned in and lowered her voice, "I mean, he seems so… sexy on TV. I always imagined him being a very passionate, lusty kind of man, you know?"

Amelie nodded, "I've always thought that."

Serena looked at the wistfully sad face of Amelie and shook her head. She turned to Vanessa, "Oh, this one. We have got to get her over this crush she has on the Prince."

Amelie blushed and Vanessa offered sympathetically, "Well, I understand your feeling, Amelie. He cuts a very dashing figure, and I agree, I thought he was rather 'hot-blooded' myself, but…I don't know; perhaps he's too old to be hot-blooded anymore."

Serena said, "That could be the only reason he would respond to Clarisse. Seriously, how can you have chemistry with a block of ice?"

Vanessa laughed heartily, "Well, I _have_ read that Winter is the Prince's favorite season, so…"

Serena howled, "I read the same thing! Oh, my God, that is priceless. Picture their wedding night: the prince wearing nothing but a smile…and mittens!"

Vanessa was having as good a time as she had in weeks. "I hope for _his_ sake they honeymoon near the equator!"

Serena didn't miss a beat, "It wouldn't matter!"

The two of them dissolved into hysterics, neither of them noticing Natalie and Gillian walking up to the table.

Amelie's greeting of, 'Hi, you two.' brought Vanessa back to herself with a thump. She looked over her shoulder to be greeted with Gillian's obliviously cheerful smile. It took less than a second to read the look on Natalie's face. Nat had clearly heard enough to know everything that was going on at the table…and was not happy about it. Vanessa could feel her face flush hot with embarrassment and guilt, but beneath that there was a surge of abandon. A part of her didn't care; she had spent entirely too much time under the jackboot of Clarisse's pre-eminence and was enjoying the company of those who felt the same way. She stared back at Natalie defiantly.

Natalie never took her eyes off of Vanessa as she said, "We just came over to say Hi. We have to get going."

Probably no one else noticed the surprise on Gillian's face as she was led away from the table she'd clearly thought she'd be joining, but Vanessa did. She knew she was in Natalie's doghouse and as tightly as she tried to hold onto her righteous defiance, she suddenly didn't feel as much like laughing as she did a moment ago.

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"As you must know, the press has openly reported that His Highness has been searching for a bride and it is no secret that young women and their families have been to the Palace for that purpose. The press has managed to ferret out the names of some of the young ladies considered, but thus far have agreed to withhold reporting them in exchange for cooperation from the Palace with regard to an open flow of communication on the subject in the very near future. To that end, I have planted some preliminary seeds with certain trusted members of the press. You can expect to read several stories in the coming days, the gist of which will be that while His Highness has been sociable with a number of eligible young women, he has lately been seen in the company of one woman in particular." Marcel Royer, Royal Head of Public Relations, smiled at Clarisse. "That would be you."

Clarisse smiled and nodded as Rupert leaned in and placed a hand on her arm. "Rest assured, your name will not appear in any newspaper at this point, isn't that correct, Marcel?"

"Yes, as I said, we have been in discussions with the press on the timing of things and they will keep to our timeframe. Even the most ambitious rogue reporters understand that if they expect to have any kind of access to information from the Palace in the future, on any subject, they will need to work with us."

Clarisse was both surprised and not surprised to actually hear that the Palace had such a tight relationship with the dreaded press, but ultimately was consoled by the fact. Marcel himself was a very comfortable presence, giving the impression he'd done this kind of thing a thousand thousand times.

Marcel continued, "That being said, we don't have carte blanche to take forever and a day to introduce the two of you as a couple. The press will respect the fact that certain things need to be tended to before you go public but they will wait only so long. For their compliance with our timetable they expect to have reasonable access to the two of you as a couple, as I said, in the very near future. Therefore, the three of us need to discuss those things that should be addressed immediately. I understand, for instance, that chief among your concerns, your Highness, is the issue of informing Lord and Lady Mignionette."

Rupert nodded, "Yes. Clarisse and I have discussed that and we've decided that the best way to manage it would be for me to call on them privately at their home."

Marcel looked at his notes, "Would it be possible to do this in the next, say, three days?"

Clarisse nodded, "Yes, absolutely; in fact, the sooner the better. They've been on tenterhooks for some time and are anxious to hear something definitive soon."

Rupert chuckled, "We need to be merciful and put and end to poor Lord Mignionette's misery. Or perhaps, put a start to it. I'll be reaching out to them tomorrow morning about a meeting."

Marcel smiled, "Very good. He may not appreciate it for the next little while, Miss Mignionette, but your father has nothing to fear. His Highness would do any father-in-law proud."

Rupert smiled at Clarisse, "He's on my payroll, you know."

Clarisse smiled back, "I see why."

Marcel continued discreetly, "Is there anyone else that needs to be informed of where things stand who has not yet been?"

Rupert shook his head, "No. I informed the parents of the young women I chose not to meet as I went along in the process and sent personal notes to both Elizabeth Channing and Sophia Maneras the day before yesterday. I met with Vanessa Simone yesterday afternoon."

Marcel nodded and made a note. "Good, good. Then my preferred plan looks like it could work."

Rupert took a deep breath, "You're 'preferred' plan…let's hear it."

Marcel leaned back in his chair, "Well, I want to take advantage of the chance timing of your seasonal polo match. I think it would work as a very comfortable first public outing for the two of you."

As Rupert considered the viability of his idea, Marcel turned his focus to Clarisse. "As you may or may not know, every three to four months, the Fricker Polo Grounds holds a charity match to benefit various children's hospitals across the country. Both of the Princes participate and the next one occurs in roughly ten days. The press will be there covering the event and can include in their reporting that the Prince had a 'date' watching from the sidelines. You could sit with Princess Madeleine and Duchess Sara."

In the contemplative silence that followed as both Rupert and Clarisse mulled over his plan, Marcel explained further, "The press would expect you, Your Highness, to field some inquiries about Miss Mignionette along with the usual business regarding the charity match, but we would restrict their access to Miss Mignionette to include photo taking only." Turning to address Clarisse, he clarified, "You wouldn't need to speak to the press directly."

Rupert looked at Clarisse, carefully gauging her reaction, "What do you think?"

Clarisse nodded after a moment, "Yes, I think I can handle that. I like the idea of not having to jump right in and talk to the press; I assumed I would have to deal with them immediately."

Marcel nodded, "That is why I want to take advantage of the polo match. It affords the opportunity for you to be at the Prince's side in a very casual and natural way, under a circumstance where the press will be present, but where a full blown press conference about the Prince's private life would be out of place. This way you can get used to being in front of reporters, knowing they are taking your picture, observing you, but without the stress of answering innumerable questions." He turned his attention back to Rupert, "Otherwise the only other realistic alternative for your first public appearance would be the Parliament Dinner later in the month."

Rupert frowned and shook his head, "Oh, no, no. I mean, presumably we will attend that dinner together, but not by way of introduction of us as a couple; absolutely not. Besides being a dreadfully dull event that holds very little potential for fun in any case, such a formal introduction will just come across as stilted and stuffy."

Marcel nodded in agreement with a slight shrug as if to say 'that was my thinking as well'.

Clarisse looked at Rupert asking, "Then the polo match would do?"

Rupert nodded wholeheartedly, "Absolutely. The polo match is a wonderful idea. It feels very …unaffected. The timing is certainly fortunate for the launch of our public relationship, but the event is something I would no doubt have invited you to attend, no matter what the circumstance."

Marcel said, "Ah, well, that's perfect, then. As much as we can, I think we should rely on the genuine instincts of the two of you. We should keep 'staged' events out of the process as much as possible. For one thing, it will make both of you more comfortable when talking publicly of your relationship, and for another it will convey to the world at large that you are a team. That will be especially reassuring to the people."

Rupert said, "Yes, Clarisse and I discussed this very thing and we both feel that it is important that the people understand that this marriage is not entirely about securing the Monarchy; there is a human element here the two us want very much to convey."

Marcel smiled, "Well, I don't think that will be difficult. From a public relations standpoint, the two of you make a very appealing couple. Dare I say it, Genovia's answer to America's Jack and Jackie."

Rupert and Clarisse looked at one another in flattered surprise. Clarisse smiled, "High praise indeed!"

Rupert chimed in, "And Marcel's a professional. That's an expert's assessment, right there!"

Marcel said, "Yes, well they are the new gold standard for political couples and, while we in Genovia don't operate on such a grand stage as the President and First Lady, I think the two of you will present a wonderful picture to the world of Genovia's bright future."

Rupert leaned back grandly in his chair, "Well, that is good news."

Marcel closed his notebook and said, "Yes, I think we've made good progress today. I leave the smaller details of your relationship to the two of you to decide. For instance, I understand that the two of you were seen riding together this morning; to the extent that you are comfortable, please feel free to partake of similar outings together. Using the Palace as a small stage on which to get accustomed to being a couple, more to the point, being seen as a couple can be beneficial. Beyond that, the three of us can meet up again after Lord and Lady Mignionette have been informed. Of course, I would be happy to meet with both them if they have any questions whatsoever."

Clarisse smiled, "Thank you so much. You've been such a big help. I feel much more confident going ahead after meeting you."

Marcel quipped, "As do I. It will be a real pleasure working with you Miss Mignionette."

"Please, call me Clarisse."

He dipped his head in assent. "Now all that's left is for His Highness to win the day at the polo match and we will have a fairy tale beginning to your story."

Rupert grumbled, "I'll have to bribe Etienne's horse to throw him early on in the proceedings if I'm to have any chance."

Clarisse reassured, "Well, never fear. In many fairy tales, it is the underdog that wins out in the end."

He looked at her skeptically, "Such as?"

Clarisse and Marcel looked at one another for a moment before Marcel said, "Beauty and the Beast?"

Rupert deadpanned, "You're fired."

Clarisse exclaimed, "No, no, we're going to need him!"

Rupert said, "Right. Well, after you turn us into the ultimate golden couple, then you're fired. Put it in your notebook."

Dutifully, "Yes, Your Highness."

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Natalie sighed, trying to be sensitive to Vanessa's raw nerves, "Look Vanessa, I'm not saying you don't have a right to get upset, but good Lord, you were so out of line in there."

Vanessa knew the minute she saw Natalie waiting for her outside the University gates that she was in for it, and she wasn't wrong. She'd been forced to admit the ugly truth that Rupert hadn't chosen her, right here next to the hedgerow. On top of that, Natalie was in the process of delivering a talking to about her Student Union behavior. Vanessa was trying not to get too emotional, but Natalie was the only person she knew who could make her feel guilty and chastised. "Natalie, you're making too much of this. I was letting off steam. That's all."

Natalie shook her head, "No, Vanessa, that's not 'all' that was going on. You were tearing Clarisse apart."

Vanessa rolled her eyes, "You're being a bit dramatic."

"No, I don't think so. Making jokes about her wedding night? Not only is that childish, but it's mean."

Vanessa sighed heavily, wondering where the sympathy for _her_ was amidst all this worry about Clarisse. She said half sarcastically, half honestly, "Look, I know you and Clarisse are close, but let's be honest here Natalie, not everyone is going to be thrilled that Clarisse is to be the next Queen. She better get used to hearing some criticism if she expects to be a public figure. For that matter, so had you, Nat."

Slight impatience crept into Natalie's voice as she said, "I don't think either one of us should have to get used to _friends_ resorting to personal attacks."

Vanessa said coldly, "You and I are friends. You and Clarisse are friends. Clarisse and I are not friends."

Natalie was stunned at Vanessa's declaration, stated as if it was common knowledge that two of her oldest friends just 'happened' to know one another. "Oh, really. So, all of a sudden, because of this royal wedding business, you and she were never friends?"

Vanessa stayed mute, shrugging vaguely as Natalie challenged, "Can you name one important moment in the last eight years of your life when Clarisse wasn't there?"

Vanessa said, "I'm just pointing out that the reason she and I are friends is through circumstance, not because we have some unbreakable bond."

Natalie fumed, not wanting to tangle with her, "Okay, putting aside the suddenness of this whole 'we were never that close' business, what are you saying? That it's okay to say nasty things about her behind her back? I mean, I know how upset you must be by all of this…"

"You keep saying that you understand how upset I am, but you don't, Natalie, and do you know why you don't? Because you are completely off about who Clarisse is."

Natalie's head was spinning with what was pouring out of Vanessa's face today. "What are you talking about? I know Clarisse better than you do, better than anybody does."

"No, you don't. You've always just thought that she's this…person who is just a bit more special, more unique…just a bit better than the rest of us."

Natalie gaped, "What on earth are you talking about?"

Vanessa said loftily, "Don't feel bad; you're in good company – lots of people think the same way about her."

Natalie knew where_ this_ was coming from; Vanessa had a bent toward paranoia when in the heat of battle, though she'd never indulged her insecurity quite as blatantly as she was today. Natalie wished she could be more sympathetic, but was overcome with fed-up-ness. With mock conspiracy in her voice, Natalie whispered, "But you know better, eh, Vanessa? Enlighten me…what is Clarisse _really_ like?"

Trying to ignore the sarcasm in Natalie's voice, Vanessa asked, "Natalie, do you think her resume, her reputation are by accident? Do you really think that she's just some creature floating through life with good things happening to her because she more deserving? No, she manipulates situations and people to get what she wants and hides behind this oh-so-dignified persona. In reality she's sneaky and phony. She's a totally manufactured person."

Natalie was baffled, "Wait a minute, wait a minute. Are you telling me, that you think Clarisse somehow engineered this whole royal marriage thing? You believe that Clarisse – a woman that you yourself once said was so naïve as to how life really works that she was bordering on oblivious – managed somehow to hoodwink no less than the Crown Prince? Arguably the most sophisticated man in the country, world traveler, in line to run the nation, and Clarisse manipulated him to choose her as his bride, in spite of himself? She's Lady MacBeth, is what you are saying, basically."

Vanessa closed her eyes and took a breath, "What I'm saying is that she is just as ambitious as I am. If the situation was reversed, and she'd lost out to me, she'd have the same less than generous attitude about me; the only difference would be that she wouldn't have the courage to be honest about it."

Natalie said, "No, she wouldn't have the bad manners to spew it out loud."

Vanessa reddened for a moment before stating flatly, "She's not special. She's not better, and I'm tired of having to pay homage to her as if she was. I have every right to be tired of hearing how impressive she is."

Natalie shook her head, "No one is asking you to 'pay homage', for God's sake. You were being a catty, vicious gossip at the Union and I called you on it. That's it. The rest of this…ranting, is just that. It's ranting. And like I said, you have a right to be disappointed, but why are you making this all about Clarisse being better or special or whatever else? Why can't it just be that Rupert was more comfortable with her, or that he had more in common with her, or liked blue eyes instead of brown?"

Vanessa crossed her arms, leaned against the iron fence and looked away from Natalie's gaze. Natalie said exasperated, "You're acting as if being Rupert's wife is something that you have dreamed about for your whole life. Three weeks ago you had so many irons in the fire, so many plans, so much going on that I could barely get you on the phone. I almost didn't ask you to be a bridesmaid because I thought you'd be too busy."

She paused to let Vanessa have her say, but she was still absently looking over Natalie's head, shaking her head. Natalie continued, "I cannot believe what you are letting this one disappointment turn you into, Vanessa. In that Union today, taking cheap shots at Clarisse with the likes of Serena Kimbrough, like you were some nasty, insecure little 13 year old…you looked petty and jealous and spiteful."

When Nat stopped speaking, Vanessa glanced into her face. She wanted to plead her own case, go on and on about all the times she had to take a back seat to Clarisse, the times when she had to be gracious in defeat, but she couldn't even bear to hear herself recount them all. All she could say was, "You…don't understand, Natalie. You just…you don't understand."

Natalie sighed, "Clearly not. What I do understand is that you've got to get this out of your system or you are going to ruin your reputation. You're going to end up looking like an ass." She paused a moment and said seriously, "I'm a big girl, Vanessa; if you and Clarisse don't get along, I can handle that. The two of you don't have to be friends for my sake, but I'll tell you one thing – I'm not going to have this tension and resentment hanging over my wedding. You'd better learn to come to grips with this, Vanessa."

Vanessa looked directly into Natalie's face, "Oh, so if I don't kiss Her Highness's ass, I'm out of your wedding?"

Natalie shouted, "Damn it! I'm asking for you to behave like a grown woman! Jesus, Vanessa, not twenty four hours ago, you were in contention to become the Monarch of this country! You've been seated across from Her Majesty, the Queen of Genovia and came away with her respect. Now you're reduced to snide comments and insufferable behavior! Pull yourself together and remember who you were before all this happened, because if you can't, if you let this consume you then you are going to lose a lot more than the chance to be in my wedding."

Vanessa opened her mouth to say something, but Natalie interrupted, "And I would say the same thing to Clarisse…if she suddenly decided to start detailing to the world all the reasons Rupert preferred her to you, I would read her the same riot act."

She finished, "As far as my wedding is concerned, I'm not asking too much by expecting for all of us to act our frigging age."

Vanessa said nothing, wondering how completely her whole life had spun out of control. Natalie was right, she had been a woman that the palace felt was fit to be Queen, but now…she just felt awful and alone and rejected and miserable. Her lip began to quiver and she lowered her head to hide it, fervently wishing she were anywhere but here feeling the way she was feeling. She said quietly, "I don't want to ruin your wedding, Nat. I don't want to miss your wedding."

Natalie said softly, "I don't want that, either." Vanessa didn't raise her head, but it wasn't hard for Natalie to read the misery on her face. Natalie pulled her into a hug and said, "I'm so sorry that things didn't work out the way you wanted them to."

She could feel Vanessa start to cry as she hugged her back. Nat sighed, "Oh, Ness… if you needed to vent you should have come to me; not Serena…she's an idiot."

Vanessa laughed slightly, but said nothing, still crying. It was a few minutes before she was able to croak, "It's just so frustrating. She's just always…" She dissolved into tears once again, not even able to begin to explain her upset.

Natalie nodded, knowing the win/loss record between Vanessa and Clarisse. "I know. Listen, why don't you come and have dinner at my house. We can reminisce about the old days; you know…February."

Vanessa laughed a small laugh and Natalie offered, "I'll even let you rage on about Clarisse a little."

Vanessa sniffed as she pulled back to look at Natalie, "Really?"

Natalie put an arm around Vanessa's shoulders, "Sure…but within reason. No cheap shots. Deal?"

Vanessa said, "Deal."

They gathered up their things and started walking. After a few moments, Vanessa said, "You know what might make me feel even better?"

"What?"

"Being Maid of Honor."

Natalie sighed tiredly, "Oh, Ness. I'll do you one better; you can be the bride. I just want to take a nap. You bridesmaids are wearing me out."

8888888888

"So…polo? Are you any good?" Clarisse asked as Rupert and she played a game of Gin Rummy in the infamous study before Clarisse left for the evening.

He smiled while arranging his cards, "Well, I've never embarrassed myself."

She said, "Oh, good. Well, I'm looking forward to the match."

Rupert looked up suddenly, "That reminds me…do you ride side saddle?"

She paused a moment, hoping he wasn't looking for her to join the polo match. She said cautiously, "Well, I don't really know. I've never tried."

He nodded unsurprised, "Hmm, I didn't think you would have had occasion. It _is_ a skill you'll need to acquire at some point in the future. We can't have the Queen sitting astride a horse, can we?"

She cocked her head to one side, considering, "No, I guess we can't. Now that you mention it I've never seen a Queen from any country _not_ riding side saddle. Well, how hard can it be, really?"

Rupert tried to hide a smile remembering the grumbling his mother had done over the years whenever asked to saddle up, "Well, from my understanding it isn't so much difficult as uncomfortable. But, never fear, none of the duties that require a Queen to sit on a horse are done at a canter."

"Thank heaven for small favors. One never considers the small things that are required of being a royal." She said as she digested her first glimpse at the nuts and bolts of being a royal figure.

Rupert looked up at her casually discarding,, "Speaking of which, how are you with a bow and arrow?"

Clarisse looked over at him, not understanding. "A bow and arrow?"

He repeated expectantly, "Yes. Archery, you know?"

"Oh. Uhm…again, I don't know. I've never held a bow and arrow before." Rupert said nothing, but she asked after a moment, "Why on earth do I need to know archery?"

Once again trying not to laugh, he exhaled, "There is this ceremony that both you and I will have to perform before we are crowned." Looking at Clarisse's furrowed brow and very attentive eyes, he again wanted to laugh, but restrained himself. Hoping to couch the news in an air of casualness, he drawled, "Oh, we have to shoot a flaming arrow through a ring…I don't know, maybe 20 feet in the air? It's a symbol of the two of us kicking off our reign, so to speak."

Clarisse looked at him and said slowly, "What on earth..?"

He started laughing, raising his hands, "Listen, Clarisse…"

Not laughing, she exclaimed, "A _flaming_ arrow? Good Lord!"

Rupert was trying to sound comforting in between his chuckles, "Clarisse, please don't worry. It's not as if you have to learn how to do this by tomorrow."

Clarisse seized on only one of the many ways this particular royal duty could wind up a disaster, "Well…wait, what happens if I don't get the arrow through the ring?"

He shrugged after thinking about it for a moment, "Nothing, I assume. Frankly, no one has ever missed so many times that they just gave up…but it _is_ just a ceremony. It's not as if we won't be allowed to ascend to the throne if we don't do it. It just could be very embarrassing if we don't get it though in a reasonable number of tries, what with the press covering the event…and no doubt wagering on it."

She shook her head and threw down a card, "Oh, lovely."

"If it's any consolation, you won't be alone out there, remember. I'll be right beside you struggling with my own my arrow."

She gave a small smile, "Mmmm, but you've spent your whole life knowing you'd need to do this. I just found out now!"

"Yes, but I haven't spent my whole life practicing. It's been years since I picked up a bow and arrow." He furrowed his brow, "Actually, I don't remember being too adept at it, now that I think of it."

She smiled at the sudden doubt flickering across his face, "Oh, good. That makes me feel ever so much better."

He cocked an eyebrow, "I'm so glad." He took a breath and said briskly, "At any rate, as I said, none of this is happening tomorrow. We're getting ahead of ourselves."

She jumped in quickly, eyeing him significantly, "Yes we are, aren't we? Not for the first time, I might add. You know, you have a rather persistent habit of telling me things _well before_ I need to know them!"

He looked up at her and, despite the humor in her voice, he immediately took her meaning. "Yes, I do, don't I?" He grew more serious and said, "It wasn't long after you left the other night that I realized I probably shouldn't have told you that you were my choice before anything official had been announced. I never intended that news to be a burden, but I know now that it must have been. I am truly sorry."

She smiled gently, "Well, I was half joking, but I do thank you for your apology."

He said meekly, "I hope you didn't run into too many untenable situations?"

She said truthfully, "Lying to my parents was very uncomfortable. I'm hoping once you speak to my father, he and I can talk more comfortably about things."

There was lightness in her voice as she continued, "I did manage to escape one situation that would have been a nightmare."

He raised his eyebrows expectantly and she continued, "Well, Natalie called a meeting of her bridesmaids for the day after our fateful dinner with your family. It was difficult to keep quiet with Natalie and Elizabeth, but, strangely, I do owe you thanks. Because you wanted to speak to Vanessa so soon, she had to cancel on the bridesmaid meeting. It would have been very hard to face her; knowing."

He stared at her, "Oh, God, Clarisse, I'm so sorry. I forgot all about the wedding entanglement."

"No, no, something like that is not your problem to accommodate, it's mine. I'm going to have to get used to this kind of thing if I'm going to be a part of the Monarchy, yes?"

"Well, honestly, I don't know how often such a uniquely complicated predicament as this may come up again."

She nodded, "It's true; this is a really odd situation. But, on the plus side, Natalie will always have the best wedding story at any party, hands down."

He laughed and threw a card. "So then, the very brave Miss Tate decided to ask both Elizabeth and Vanessa to be in her wedding? If memory serves one of them was on the bubble."

Clarisse smiled, "Yes. She thought Vanessa might not be able to fit it in, she was so busy. But Vanessa made room. I'm glad she did; if our schedules ever allow for all of us to get together at the same time, it should be a fun group."

Rupert regarded Clarisse and shook his head ruefully, "I know you're going to tell me it's not necessary, but please accept my apology that our situation has put you in such an awkward position with your friends."

Acknowledging the uncomfortable circumstances, she conceded, "I admit, I hated lying to Natalie, but she knows me so well, I think she figured things out…I'm not sure how much she figured out, but she was kind enough not to push it too much. I'm hoping the next time I see her that I can tell her something…like I'm going to your polo match?"

Rupert fervently assured her, "Yes, you can. I would wait until I speak to your parents, but yes, in the next couple of days you can be honest with Natalie again."

Relieved, she sighed, "Oh, good." After a moment, she resumed "Elizabeth hadn't received your note when I saw her, but was expecting to hear that she wasn't your choice. She was apparently very nervous when she met with you?"

He chortled and nodded is assent. She smiled and continued, "Well, her feeling was that if she was a fit for the role, she wouldn't have been nervous. She's got a philosophical side to her, so her ego seems to have made its peace."

"I am relieved to hear that."

Speaking more to herself than Rupert, Clarisse pondered, "Vanessa…well, Vanessa's going to be very angry."

Rupert looked up, "Angry?"

"Yes. That's the big difference between Liz and Vanessa; they're both very competitive, but Liz is competitive with herself, always trying to outdo herself, if you know what I mean. Vanessa, though…she is competitive with the whole world. She judges herself by how she does up against others." She chuckled sheepishly, "I'm going to have to do some tiptoeing around her for a while."

Rupert furrowed his brow, "Why would she be angry at you? If anyone, she should be angry at me."

Clarisse tried to explain the girl that was at times a puzzlement to her, even after all these years of knowing her. "Well, with Vanessa, it's always more about where she winds up in the rankings than the actual prize. No offense. I think it's because she's so used to achieving. You saw her resume; she's so driven and so capable that virtually anything she sets her mind to, she gets. When you are that accomplished, it's the rare loss that stands out and mocks you, I suppose."

Rupert had some thoughts on the matter, but kept them to himself as she seemed deep in though about the subject. She continued, "I worry about her sometimes with the pace she keeps, but she seems to thrive on the challenge of realizing goal after goal. I don't know anyone with more resolve when she sees something she wants."

Rupert said, "I told her that she would make an excellent member of parliament."

Clarisse nodded enthusiastically, "Oh, she'd tear right through parliament. You may have bought yourself a world of trouble nudging her in that direction. She's a formidable opponent."

He smiled, "That's why I have you…my ringer."

Clarisse raised her eyebrows skeptically, "I don't know; I'm not nearly as aggressive as she can be. She breaks stone like a battering ram, I erode stone like water."

Rupert nodded at the simile, "That's exactly right. That's the two of you in a nutshell. I've seen both of your resumes and the two you seem to have gone head to head a few times in the past. Perhaps that's why you come out of the winner more often than not. A battering ram is ineffective against water."

Clarisse nodded with only the trace of a smile, "That's why she's going to be angry at me. I frustrate the hell out of her."

"That doesn't give her the right to be angry with you."

Clarisse shrugged, "Maybe not, but it is part and parcel with being such an overachiever as Vanessa."

He shook his head skeptically, "You're a more tolerant person than I, Clarisse."

She said, "Oh, I like Vanessa very much. She's terribly funny and always makes a get together more lively. Besides, she keeps me sharp. There is no one I can learn more from simply because her style is so different from mine." She added with humor, "Anyway, if she does wind up in parliament, she can get over her anger about this by making my tenure as Queen as difficult as possible. She'll love that."

Rupert took a deep breath, "Well, it sounds as if Miss Tate's wedding will be fraught with intrigue. Keep in mind, my offer to be a proper escort still stands."

Clarisse laughed, "That would be something, wouldn't it?"

He looked at her expectantly, "When is the big day?"

She looked at him, wondering if he was serious, "Uh…well, it's September 28th."

He saw the doubt in her face and said shrugged, "Well, it's something to think about. September is a ways off." She didn't look entirely convinced and he reassured her, "Don't worry, I'm not the kind of escort that gets drunk and embarrasses his date; unless it's called for, that is."

She shrugged and laughed, "Well, you'd fit right in. No introductions to the bridal party would be necessary."

"I know! I'm practically family!"

Clarisse laughed and thought maybe, just maybe, September was far enough in the future for Vanessa's pride to have sufficiently recovered.

TBC


	19. Gentlemen's Agreement

Hello all

Rupert was enjoying the simplicity of his trip to Clarisse's house. It had been a while since he'd been in a non-regulation limousine with no privacy screen, or, in fact, no need for privacy; for the first time in recent memory he had no business to attend to while in the backseat. He had his driver and one security man, but nothing about the high-end yet subdued Cadillac screamed 'royal motorcade coming through' as they meandered through suburban Pyrus. He wished he could have done without security altogether, good guy though Andre was, but he could no more venture out into the public arena without a security detail than he could venture out without his pants. Normally he barely noticed the security team, so efficient were they, but Andre and the driver, David, knew why they were all making this trip, making him feel even more self-conscious than he already did.

He looked out the window as people – soon to be his people – walked the sidewalks, got in and out of cars, checked their mailboxes; not one of them aware that their future King was driving by. He wondered what would happen if he rolled down his window at the next stop sign and asked anyone who happened by for directions. He smiled to himself, picturing the scene that would cause. He wished he could do it, not to tease or make fun of these private citizens, but to tell them the next time they were tempted to be impressed by royal trappings, not to be. He may rule the country one day, but that didn't exempt him from uncomfortable conversations with his intended's father.

"We're approaching Harmony Court, Your Highness." The driver said as he turned onto the curved, tree lined street.

Rupert straightened himself up and smoothed himself down as he eyed the upscale but sedate houses that sat on Harmony Court. The limo slowed down and stopped in front of number 18 and a small smile crept across Rupert's face. This was where Clarisse lived. He was fascinated with this solid representation of her 'real' life lived outside his purview. Whenever he'd sent a car for her, it was that white door she walked out of and those lilac bushes she passed by to get to it. Whenever she walked to school, she turned right at that gate at the end of the walk. For some reason, he was engrossed by this sudden glimpse of Clarisse-ville.

The security man interrupted his ruminations, "Your Highness, would you like me to do a reconnaissance of the interior before you enter?"

Rupert said quickly, "No. God, no. Relax, Andre; I'm here to see Lord Mignionette on personal business; I don't want the usual security fanfare. This is the man's home."

Andre nodded, "I apologize, Your Highness. I'm a bit unclear on the procedure for a situation such as this."

"So am I." He looked around the neighborhood and thought that leaving the two of them sitting in the car outside the house for an extended period could draw attention. "I don't suppose I can talk you into getting some coffee for about an hour?"

Andre said, "No, sir, with due respect."

Rupert exhaled and nodded. Addressing the driver, Rupert said, "Okay, David, you _can_ go for coffee. I don't want a strange car parked in front of the house; it might raise some eyebrows. Andre will radio when I need you back."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Rupert looked back at the house. "Andre, you come with me. You can man the foyer. If things take a turn for the worse and Lord Mignionette tries to rough me up, I'll call for you."

David and Andre each suppressed a smile. "Yes, Your Highness."

With one more deep breath Rupert muttered, "Alright, let's go."

Andre got out of the car and opened His Highness's door as casually and un-security-like as he could. Rupert stepped out and immediately felt exposed. As he began his walk up the walkway, he fervently hoped that the whole neighborhood wasn't peeking at him through their living room windows. On the other hand if they were, he hoped they all thought that his black overcoat and dark blue suit made him look respectful and respectable, but not overblown. Perhaps he could knock on someone's door and ask their opinion on his ensemble before ringing the bell at number 18. He glanced around and saw nothing furtive, just a lane of lovely houses full of people who probably had better things to do than spy on the Mignionettes. He shook his head, 'I really have to get out of the Palace more often.'

When they reached the front steps and Andre took an unobtrusive stance behind and to the left of him, Rupert rang the doorbell, awaiting the butler. Clarisse had filled him in on the details of the household; one housekeeper, one butler/valet, one cook. The meeting was set for 8:00 p.m. and she said that the staff would normally have retired for the evening, but for him, probably would be about. As for family, only Lord Mignionette would be home. God love Clarisse, she had cleared the decks for him. Apparently, when his note requesting an audience came to the house, she took her mother aside and drove home the idea that this meeting should be between Rupert and her father only. It didn't take long for Lady Mignionette to see the logic and rather than lurk in the house somewhere out of sight until called for, decided to make herself completely scarce and have an evening out with her daughter. Given how deftly she'd made this particular undertaking much less complicated, Rupert decided to leave in Clarisse's capable hands how he should handle any follow up communication with her mother.

Rupert heard footsteps approaching and straightened himself once more as the door opened. The butler, looking as nervous as Rupert felt, said shakily with a deep bow, "Your Highness."

Rupert smiled warmly, always better at handling others' nervousness than his own, "Good evening. I'm here to meet with Lord Mignionette."

"Of course, Your Highness, please come in." The Butler said as he opened the door and allowed entrance.

Rupert walked in and his eyes scanned the front hallway as he turned back toward the butler, who looked surprised as Andre strolled through the door. Rupert explained, "This is Andre, my faithful security guard."

The butler closed the door, "Ah, yes, of course. How do you do? May I take your coats?"

As Rupert pulled off his gloves he said expectantly, "Thank you…?"

The butler looked up suddenly and stammered, "William, sir."

"Thank you, William." He shrugged off his coat as he took a closer look around. The large front hallway was dark wood and marble, bisected by the staircase leading, presumably to the bedrooms. To the right was a drawing room, to the left the dining room. He assumed down the hallway past the staircase on the left, was the kitchen; all in all, a perfectly tasteful front hall colonial. He hadn't really thought about what her house would look like, but it seemed a perfectly appropriate place for Clarisse to live.

William said, "May I show you both to the drawing room?"

Rupert looked at Andre to get his read on the matter. Andre nodded slightly and answered William's question, "Actually, if it's convenient for you, I'll remain in the hall. My radio goes off occasionally and I think it would be less disruptive for everyone if I stationed myself here."

William, not versed in the way of security, simply agreed. "Oh, yes, of course."

Andre nodded, "Thank you."

Going against his butler's instincts he left the man to stand at the front door, and turned his attention back to the Prince, motioning him to the right. "This way, Your Highness."

As he led Rupert through the French doors and down two steps into the living room, William explained, "Lord Mignionette received a phone call only a moment before you arrived. He will be with you shortly."

Rupert said, "Of course, thank you."

"Can I get you anything, Your Highness?"

He smiled, "No, thank you, William."

"Very well, sir. Is there anything that your security man might need or want? Shall I offer him something?"

Rupert considered, "That's very kind of you. By all means, please feel free to offer. For all I know, the man is dying of thirst."

William smiled slightly, "Yes, sir."

After William made his exit, Rupert looked around the room and noticed the large fireplace in the back of the room. More specifically, he noticed the many, many pictures on the mantle. Being an only child, they simply had to be of Clarisse. Perhaps, pictures of Clarisse when she was young; pictures she'd be terribly embarrassed to have him see.

He immediately made his way over hoping to find a choice one, perhaps of the bear-skin rug variety, but was disappointed to find nothing embarrassing. The photos _were_ predominantly of Clarisse, but none that she would be shy about having on the mantle. As he looked them over, he cynically wondered if she made a scan of the room to get the real corkers out of sight before he arrived.

The more recent photos – her graduation, a shot of her accepting what looked like some sort of civic award, a photo of her cutting a cake that read 'Happy 19th' – were front and center They were all lovely photos, but they weren't the ones he wanted to see. The Clarisse in these photos, he knew. He wanted to see little Clarisse.

Sure enough, in the next row were the older photos. One school photo brought a smile to his face; Clarisse during an 'awkward phase'. With her long, skinny limbs and eyes that looked twice their normal size in her very bony face, she looked like a praying mantis, albeit an endearing one. The unfortunate choice of a green dress only advanced the image and his smile grew. He instantly chastised himself for having a chuckle at Clarisse's expense. After all, she couldn't have been more than 13 years old in this picture; long before she developed, so to speak, into the lovely woman she now was. The thought that he was probably 26 years old when this photo was taken wiped the smile off his face entirely.

An even older photo caught his eye; Clarisse as a full tilt toddler. He gazed at what he guessed was Clarisse at three or four years old, on her knees in front of a Christmas tree with a large, partially opened gift of some sort sitting in front of her. The photographer, probably her father, must have called her name and she simply looked up into the camera. Strangely, this picture looked more like the Clarisse he knew than the picture of her at 13 did. She smiled the same calm smile, and looked at the world with the same direct blue eyes then as she did now. A cute little girl who had turned into a fetching young lady.

He perused the rest of the photos for a moment longer when the doors opened and Lord Mignionette came in. "I beg your pardon, Your Highness. I intended to greet you when you arrived, but I got a call from my office."

Rupert said as he made his way over to shake hands, "Lord Mignionette, it's so nice to see you again."

Arthur said with a bow, "Please, call me Arthur. Again, I apologize.

Rupert said, "Oh, that's perfectly alright. Nothing catastrophic, I hope?"

Arthur shook his head dismissively, "Catastrophic, no; just the usual tempest in the teapot."

Rupert nodded, "Then I should not expect a disaster report on my desk anytime soon?"

Arthur smiled, "Not at all. Everything is well in hand."

Rupert complimented, "As usual."

Arthur said, "I do hope you weren't waiting long."

Rupert shook his head, "No, not long at all. I took the opportunity to look at your family photos, I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not."

"Truth be told, I was looking for a humorous one of Clarisse that I might needle her over, but alas, she is too photogenic and I found no ammunition."

Arthur looked over at the mantle, "Any ammunition would have been screened out by Clarisse; she has final say on which pictures I display."

Rupert smiled, thinking that it wasn't exactly ransacking the room before he arrived, but it was close.

Arthur motioned for him to take a seat, "I asked William to bring in some cognac, but if there is something else you would like – tea, coffee…?"

Rupert settled in the chair across from Arthur, "No, cognac sounds perfect."

"Good."

While they waited for William, they chatted about the agricultural 'crisis' Arthur attended to that made him late; something about crop quotas that Rupert barely understood. By the time William had come with the cognac and gone again, the thread of their conversation had been broken and silence filled the room. Rupert knew an opening when he heard one and took the opportunity to address the reason for his visit.

"I very much appreciate you agreeing to see me, Lord Mignionette."

Arthur said, "It's my pleasure to have you here."

Rupert took a breath, "I'm sure it will come as no surprise to you when I say that I'm here to discuss your daughter."

Arthur shook his head, "No, no surprise."

Rupert's side of the conversation was not exactly getting much traction from Arthur, but he trudged on, "As you well know, since I met with you and Lady Mignionette, I've spent time with Clarisse, getting to know her, letting her get to know me. I'm aware that in the scheme of things she and I have had relatively little time together, but I do feel that we have forged a friendship. A friendship I would very much like to foster."

Arthur said nothing, certainly knowing what the man was leading up to, but wanting to hear him actually ask; to say the words out loud. Partly out of fascination as to how he would go about doing it because, frankly, he would have been flummoxed if he had to approach Vivianne's father in such a way; fortunately for Arthur, the man had died years before they were married. The other reason for his silence was a less than admirable desire to do nothing to make this easy for His Highness. Arthur's feeling was if Rupert planned on coming into his home to take his daughter away, then he was damn well going to go through the discomfort of asking the question and waiting for the answer. Arthur gave Rupert an almost imperceptible nod to carry on with his speech.

Rupert was running out of words, having already reached the point in his preamble where the purpose of his visit was next in the pipeline. He put as much dignity and reverence in his declaration as he could, "The reason I'm here, Lord Mignionette, is because I would like your blessing to ask Clarisse to marry me."

There it was. Now that it was out, Arthur was surprised at how calm he felt. He thought he would get emotional, or restless, or sad when he heard the words. His heart had been a crucible of all those things since the initial contact from the Palace. Right now, however, he was calm. Perhaps because he had known it was coming, or perhaps because he'd had weeks for the initial shock to have run its course, or perhaps because when asked to really consider him, he found he did like Rupert. Or maybe he was simply denying his true feelings about Clarisse marrying because realistically he knew he couldn't put a stop to it if he wanted.

He looked at Rupert for a moment, "May I ask you a question?"

Rupert was caught a bit off guard, but didn't let it show, "Of course."

"Why Clarisse?"

Rupert was less successful this time in hiding his surprise at Arthur's question. He opened his mouth to say…something, but closed it again when he couldn't decide what in the world to say. He came here humbly to ask for Clarisse's hand, but apparently not humbly enough. Much like when they met for tea the first time, Arthur's lack of 'awe' knocked Rupert off balance. He respected that the man didn't meekly hand over his daughter, and he understood why Arthur asked the question, but it still surprised Rupert that he had to justify himself.

Seeing Rupert's difficulty, Arthur said, "I understand that you wouldn't have asked to meet her at all if you didn't feel she would be qualified to fill the role of Queen. I'm sure that is equally true of the other young women you met."

Rupert began to get an idea of what Arthur wanted to know and ventured slowly, "Yes, that's true; everyone I met would have made a suitable Queen, some more suitable than others, but yes. My feelings beyond Clarisse's qualifications for the job is…what you want to know, I assume?"

Arthur responded not at all, not even a nod. Rupert regarded him for a moment before taking a deep breath and trying to explain, "Well, honestly she was the only young woman I met to whom I had a personal reaction. Simply stated, I enjoyed her company from the start." He paused to consider exactly how he did feel, "I thought that with Clarisse at my side, everything that is waiting for me might seem less like obligations I've been born to carry out, and more like a life."

Arthur said simply, "Do you love her?"

Rupert couldn't quite credit that he'd heard the question correctly. It was an obvious question to ask, but for a moment he simply could not believe Arthur had asked it. It was, for all its obviousness, a completely inappropriate question, but clearly Arthur didn't care about that. Unless Rupert wanted to simply forget the whole thing, he was going to have to answer it and, for the first time, Rupert actually entertained the idea that Lord Mignionette might actually say 'No, you may not marry my daughter.' He certainly hadn't said yes even though Rupert had already asked the question. Rupert struggled to begin his answer, "Lord Mignonette, I want to be as honest with you as I can."

"Please, call me Arthur."

"Arthur." Rupert nodded, slightly encouraged that the man still wanted to be called by his first name, but focused on the tough question that was pending. "Honestly, Arthur, if I were living under different circumstances I would take every moment I could to get to know your daughter. I would come to you and ask to marry Clarisse ready, willing and able to give you an unqualified 'yes' to your question."

He paused, noting that Arthur was listening intently. He continued, "The reality is that I live by a schedule not entirely of my making. Because of that, Clarisse and I haven't spent so much time together that I can truthfully say that I do love her. I don't want to lie to you just for the sake of expediency."

He paused again, giving Arthur a chance to interject. When he didn't, Rupert continued more gently, "What I _can_ tell you is that I have an affection for her, one that grows the more I see of her. I enjoy spending time with her and look forward to when I can see her again. I've thought about this a great deal and am very comfortable with the idea of spending my life with her by my side." He took a deep breath, "Is that love? I don't know if the likes of Shakespeare would find it grist for his mill, but whether it is 'love' or not, or grows into 'love' or not, what I feel for your daughter is…genuine."

Arthur had been listening intently, not necessarily hearing what he wanted to hear, but on some level appreciating Rupert's effort to explain his feelings more than just hearing him say 'Yes, I love Clarisse.' Would he have believed Rupert if he had said yes? If he did believe him, would he have believed that Rupert loved her enough? Would he _ever_ believe Rupert could? Would he have believed _anyone's_ answer to the question? Very probably not. Vivianne had said for years that he was a typical father with 'No One is Good Enough For My Daughter' syndrome. He would always laugh, but he never really believed that. In his heart of hearts he truly thought that when the 'right' man for Clarisse came along, he would know it, and feel no qualms about giving her away to him.

So, here he was, sitting across from a respectable, intelligent, sophisticated, charming man, who happened to be a Prince; and not in a 'he's a Prince among men' sort of way, but a bona fide, charming prince. Prince Charming, in fact, was asking to marry his daughter. And the ridiculous truth was that Arthur was mulling over whether he was suitable for Clarisse. He did a quick inventory of every person whose opinion he valued and realized that every single one of them would think he was crazy for hesitating at all. He pictured gathering them all in one room and pleading his case, and he pictured them all looking at one another as if to ask if they'd heard correctly; before debating whether Arthur needed to 'rest' at a 'facility' nearby so they could visit until he came to his senses.

He sighed, "Your Highness…"

"Rupert…please."

Arthur smiled a small smile, "Rupert. If you ask any parent what they want for their children, most will tell you they just want them to be happy. Hot on the heels of that is that they don't want to see their children get hurt. My…harassment of you is coming mostly from the latter instinct. I need to reassure myself that someone will be watching out for her in a world where I realistically cannot be there to help her."

Rupert shook his head emphatically, "Arthur, I know that entering the royal world is very difficult and not something just anyone can do – not even if you're born to it. Please, let me assure you that I will do everything to keep the more…histrionic side of my life – the press, the melodrama of parliament, things of that nature – away from Clarisse as much as possible, for as long as possible; until _she_ is comfortable. Clarisse will not be ambushed by anything about my world. I will see to that; _I_ will protect her from that."

Arthur said, "Well, I'm delighted to hear that, but actually that was not what I meant." Rupert looked questioningly as Arthur explained, "I mean, Clarisse being dealt an unfair blow by the press or harangued by Parliament will be…torture for me, but I know Clarisse well enough to know that she will look upon things like that as just part of the job. She'll have a perspective on those kinds of things. She'll only be hurt so much by those things, in other words."

He looked at Rupert, trying to decide whether to continue his thought and realized he didn't really need to ask himself. He said flatly, "Being hurt by you is a whole other matter."

Rupert was taken aback, severely. He didn't even try to hide his bafflement, bordering on offense, "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

Arthur leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, "You know, if I asked Clarisse the same very unfair question I just asked you, she would probably answer much in the same vein; that the two of you haven't known one another long enough to 'love' each other. But, like you do of Clarisse, she speaks about you with a great deal of warmth…and admiration."

Arthur paused and said levelly, "You've made a very strong impression on my daughter, Your Highness."

Rupert said nothing, was afraid to say anything, feeling completely adrift at the moment. Before he could ask himself where the man was going, Arthur chortled, "She would murder me on the spot if she heard me saying this, but I think that she's harboring a bit of a crush on you."

Rupert couldn't help but raise his eyebrows at this declaration, not once considering Clarisse the 'crush' type. Once again, Arthur chuckled. "I'm not surprised by your surprise. Clarisse keeps her more vulnerable feelings very well guarded. She's very mature in that way; she's not moody or emotionally volatile; she doesn't throw dramatic fits." Arthur smiled, "She's not a typical teenage girl, in other words."

Rupert found his voice, if only for a moment, "No, she certainly is not."

"I'm not entirely surprised, truth be told. Most of Clarisse's friends over the years have sported pictures of you on their notebooks and whatnot, as I'm sure a great many teenage girls in the country, so Clarisse's hero worship, I'm sure, is not uncommon in your experience. You must be very accustomed to that kind of reaction."

Rupert had never felt more at a loss in a conversation in his life. "Well…I…I never really gave it much thought."

Arthur continued more seriously, "My point is, Clarisse's…docile nature can make it very easy for people to forget how young she really is." He looked at Rupert significantly before adopting a more self-deprecating tone, "My wife would disagree that 19 years old is young. She is constantly telling me that Clarisse is a grown woman and I need to treat her that way. Perhaps if we weren't talking about my daughter I would agree, but try as I might, I cannot help but think of her as…well, frankly, my little girl."

Rupert tentatively ventured, "Well, I can't say I understand as a parent, but I do know that my father has the same feeling about my sister. He had a terribly difficult time letting her go away to school, whereas he offered to pack mine and my brother's bags personally when the time came for us to go."

Arthur laughed, "Well, I don't have sons, but can attest to how difficult it is to let a daughter grow up."

After a moment, sounding much more conciliatory than he had up to this point, Arthur sighed looking thoughtfully at his glass, "I'm not saying any of this to you, Rupert, because I think you're an insensitive man or a thoughtless one who doesn't know how to take care of someone's feelings. I'm just aware of the incomparable pressure and stress that is a part of your life; pressure and stress that is only going to increase as time goes on and you ascend to the throne. Even, in a 'normal' marriage, if you'll forgive me, it is easy to lose sight of the feelings of the one that is closest to you."

He looked up at Rupert, his face betraying an array of emotion. "I don't doubt your intentions or your feelings toward Clarisse, but as I said, I believe that my daughter has dedicated a piece of her heart to you, and if she has, then you have the capacity to hurt her, unintentional though it may be. Clarisse doesn't always make it easy for those around her to know how she's really feeling and you can't count on her to tell you when she's been hurt. With all that is now, and will be asked of you in the future, it would be very easy for the fragile heart of a quiet and – I don't care what my wife says – young girl to be forgotten."

His eyes sought out the refuge of his glass once more. After a bout of silence, Arthur finished, "I ask only that you remember that. That you remember not to forget that."

At some point, Rupert had stopped being preoccupied with how off balance he felt and had merely listened to what Arthur was saying, because, as he was surprised and humbled to realize, what Arthur was saying was something he needed to hear. He grumbled to himself at one point, 'I would never lose sight of how young Clarisse is', but immediately realized that he already had. The moment he prematurely told her that she was his choice and consigned her to spend dinner with his family while holding that unexploded bomb; he'd lost sight of it. When he didn't realize she'd have to lie to her parents, with whom she still lived because she was so young; he'd lost sight of it. Or how difficult it would be for her to interact with her close friends, who were already knotted up in a nuptially delicate predicament – a predicament he'd completely forgotten about – he'd lost sight of it. Her only reference to how difficult it might have been for her was to tease him about his penchant for revealing things before she needed to know them. When he'd blithely apologized, she'd let him off the hook; not making him responsible in the least for how burdened she might have been.

The knowledge that they weren't even married and he was already taking Clarisse for granted might have been bemusing at another time, but at the moment it just felt disgraceful. He looked Arthur directly in the eye, "As humbling as it is to hear you tell me something that should be obvious to me, you are right to do so. I, too, don't want Clarisse to get hurt, or God forbid, one day see regret in her eyes that she married me. For that reason alone, I would like to think that I would never forget or be unaware of her feelings, but as you say, it wouldn't be difficult for that to happen."

His tone softened and he spoke with a humility and honesty that he hoped Arthur would hear, "I want you to know that I have taken what you've said very much to heart. While I cannot promise to provide Clarisse a life free of hurt, I can promise that it will never be because I've forgotten what you've said to me today."

Arthur listened to his future King and son-in-law, for there was never really any doubt, and chose to believe him. He did believe him, in fact. Something about the tone in his voice, or perhaps the words he used, convinced Arthur that the man was sincere. He believed that even if Rupert didn't yet love Clarisse, he cared very much about her and wouldn't want to cause her sorrow. In a way, it pained him that Rupert left him with virtually no reservations, no suspicions; no reason to object. Looking in Rupert's face now, Arthur's resistance tipped over into relief that the man his daughter thought so highly of was actually worthy of her feelings.

Arthur finally said, "I thank you for allowing me to be so candid with you."

Rupert shook his head, "None of this would work any other way, Arthur. Please always feel comfortable to be frank with me."

Arthur smiled and nodded. He took only a moment, fetching an almost undetectable sigh, before saying, "You have my blessing to marry my daughter."

Rupert could only imagine how difficult it was for Arthur to actually say those words out loud. Taking serious note of the conflicted look on Arthur's face, Rupert fervently hoped that he and Clarisse only had sons. Having a daughter was clearly just too heart rending.

Rupert offered a quiet toast with a slight raise of his glass, "To your beautiful daughter."

Arthur returned the gesture, "To your beautiful bride."

As they sipped their drinks, both of them were content to let the silence it spin out as they each pondered what they'd both lost and gained this evening, over cognacs.


	20. Arthur's Epiphany

Hello all,

Well, I've descended into analysis paralysis…I hemmed and hawed for a long time over whether this chapter was even necessary; I started and scrapped it a dozen times, caught between my own impatience to get on with the story, and the nagging feeling that I couldn't jump right to the polo match without some sort of coming together between Clarisse and Arthur after his meeting with Rupert.

For those of you who are getting antsy for the meatier part of the story, I only ask that you hang in there. During the moments when I shelved this chapter, I started other, more exciting ones so they are in the pipeline and on their way. (Maybe that's why Flame-rising got so _pissed_ – see the review section for his/her humble opinion on my story, as well as my response).

Thanks for the loyalty and the reviews, everyone!

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Arthur walked into the kitchen in search of some tea and was surprised to find Clarisse sitting at the table in her pajamas and glasses with a pile of papers spread in front of her. He hadn't seen Clarisse for almost two days; since before having cognacs with His Highness last night. A situation which, actually, wasn't that unusual these days. He told himself that he saw her so seldom lately because she was very busy, but, as awful as it was to admit, the truth was that he'd been avoiding her. He just couldn't get a bead on how to talk to her about…well, most everything at the moment, but specifically, the royal bent to her life. It was strange; he had felt more comfortable talking to Rupert about their impending nuptials than the prospect of discussing it with Clarisse. He just felt so disconnected from her these days; at least the Clarisse he'd always known.

Yet, seeing her here, clad in her favorite, if very worn yellow pajamas, with one leg curled underneath her – looking like he'd seen her a hundred times before – that distance didn't seem so great. He smiled at the sight of her, "Hello, Pet."

She looked up and smiled, "Oh, hi, Dad." Glancing at the clock and noting the lateness of the hour, she said, "Why aren't you in bed?"

He went to the cabinet and got himself a cup, "I'm on my way. Just finished up some work I'd been ignoring and thought I'd get some tea before turning in. Want some?"

She stretched her arms above her head, considering, "That sounds great. But, I'll get it. You sit." She motioned for him to take a seat at the table as she went to the stove.

"Thank you, dear." He said handing her his cup and sitting down at the table. He squinted at the papers strewn across the table. "So, what's all this?"

She glanced over her shoulder as she filled the kettle with water, "Oh, pictures of bridesmaid's dresses. We're really running out of time on the gown front for Nat's wedding, so every time I see a new bridal magazine I go through it and tear out any dresses I think might look good on all of us."

Arthur idly sifted through the pictures, brow furrowed, "Isn't her wedding in September? Why the big rush?"

Clarisse sighed and explained as she leaned back on the counter after putting the kettle on, "Well, first we have to choose a dress that will look good on the five of us, then the dresses have to be ordered; it takes forever for them to arrive. Then we all have to go for fittings, and Lord only knows how long that could take. Not to mention that her two cousins live over 150 miles away; that in and of itself could cause no end to trouble…"

Arthur vaguely remembered Vivianne letting him in on the nuts and bolts when she was planning their wedding, and then, as now, his mind slowly shut down with information overload. Still vaguely looking at the pile, he mumbled, "Mmm, well, I'm sure you'll look lovely in whatever you all choose."

He picked up one picture in particular of a young woman with a beaming smile, decked to the nines in a lavish wedding gown with hair pinned up to within an inch of its life, and he laughed reflectively, "I cannot believe that Natalie is getting married. I still think of her as the chatterbox who used to sit with you at the dining room table doing homework. Or, pretending to do homework. I used to think there was entirely too much giggling going on for Algebra to be the hot topic."

Clarisse laughed a little sheepishly, "Well, maybe we weren't _always_ focused _entirely_ on our studies."

He smirked, "I thought as much."

"Well, it didn't do us any harm. Natalie and I _did _graduate with honors, remember." She smiled proudly at him.

He smirked again, "Hmmm."

Suddenly struck with a thought, Arthur turned to face her, "Tell me, whatever happened to Nigel Egan? Do you still talk to him?"

She looked at him dumbfounded, "Nigel Egan? Jeez, Dad. What made you think of him?"

He said, "I seem to remember hearing his name crop up more than once when you were 'doing homework'."

She laughed, embarrassed, "Oh God!"

He said reasonably, "What? You used to like him, didn't you?"

She rolled her eyes with a laugh, "Dad, that was…forever ago."

He sighed, "Clarisse, that was…what, five years ago? _Maybe_?"

She shook her head and tried to explain the stunningly obvious to her clueless father, "I was fourteen years old!"

He attempted to defend himself from her 'you poor dumb dad' tone by pointing out, "Yes, Pet, that was five years ago."

She said nothing, but the smile on her face as she shook her head again told him he just didn't get it. Still waxing nostalgic for a simpler time when his daughter and her friends were safely ensconced in the sheltered world of their teenage years, he asked, "So, _do_ you hear from him? Does he go to the University?"

She shook her head, "No. He lives across country now. After he graduated, he spent the summer in Strasville and wound up having to move there and get married." She lowered her voice and eyed her father meaningfully, "Shotgun."

Arthur furrowed his brow and shook his head, having absolutely no idea what she was talking about, "What's does that mean?"

She sighed tolerantly, not entirely surprised she was forced to explain, "A shotgun wedding?" When the light bulb over his head remained dark, Clarisse embarrassedly clarified in a stage whisper, "He got a girl _in trouble_."

Arthur blanched and gasped, "Good…God!"

Clarisse agreed, "I know, can you imagine? Though, really, it's not that surprising. He was definitely one of those boys with only one thing on his mind."

Arthur stared at his daughter as she casually told him the boy she liked through a good portion of her teens was a lothario who got girls pregnant over summer holiday. So much for reminiscing about the safety of her sheltered teenage years. The father in him came to the fore as his voice adopted a scolding tone, "And what exactly did _you_ like about this boy, pray tell?"

Clarisse sincerely thought about it, "Well, he was very funny in class; he always seemed very sure of himself. And he was cute."

He admonished her like she was, in fact, still fourteen, "Well, if he's out getting girls pregnant, he must have been cute and funny as hell! My God, Clarisse, you really have got to be more discerning in your judgment of people's character!"

Clarisse defensively explained herself as if she, too, had forgotten that she wasn't fourteen years old, "Well, when I liked him, it was from afar! By the time I actually got to know him he was almost seventeen and had…grown up a lot."

Arthur lectured, "Almost seventeen is not grown up, Clarisse, and honestly, how different could he have been after only two years?

Still defending her long ago fourteen year old self, she huffed, "Dad, the difference between fourteen and sixteen is huge!"

Arthur was set to launch into a lecture explaining to her that while being a teenager, no doubt, felt like being an adult, it was in fact not. What stopped him was a memory; one that, put in light of her blithe recounting of Nigel Egan's fate, suddenly seemed…very different. The ministry Christmas party two years ago; he'd planned to spend it getting to know his colleagues better, but his interest and attention had been quickly occupied elsewhere; on a certain presumptuous boy who had very clearly noticed Clarisse and had eyed her continuously as she – blissfully unaware of the boy's attention – chatted with a few girls she'd known from other ministry get-togethers. The boy had circled around and around, preparing to 'make his move' to join the group. Arthur had been tempted to swoop in and rescue Clarisse with a dance or some other excuse, but he thought she might get ticked. He was left helplessly to watch the boy get close enough that one of the girls noticed him, obviously knew him, and said 'Hi. Mission accomplished, the boy had deposited himself at Clarisse's left elbow and they chatted. Clarisse had smiled and, much to Arthur's utter dismay, proceeded to be polite – even friendly. She had gone so far, at one point, to put a hand on his arm and lean in close to hear something he was saying.

Fuming, Arthur had found Viv and detailed the unseemly turn of events, advising her strenuously to have a serious talk with Clarisse about the fact that boys read signals that girls sent out; signals that girls didn't even mean to send out, which of course, had unquestionably been the case with Clarisse.

Hadn't it been?

It had never once entered his mind that Clarisse wasn't 'blissfully unaware' of the boy's intentions, but exactly how oblivious _is_ a girl that knew the 'one thing' that was on the minds of some boys? It suddenly occurred to him that Clarisse might have…surely Clarisse hadn't…_known_ the boy had come over to talk to her? She hadn't deliberately…sent signals? And how did she know the term 'shotgun' anyway?

Adding insult to injury, he remembered the look Vivianne had given him after he'd told her the sordid tale of the boy who liked Clarisse – a look that was one part amusement and one part pity…she'd been laughing at him; his wife. Not commiserating with him, as he'd assumed, but laughing at him and his denseness.

All of which begged the question, 'Why, then, was he chastising Clarisse over an admittedly unworthy crush she'd had years ago?' The answer came so quickly that it seemed his brain had simply been waiting – possibly for years – for him to ask the question. It was for the same reason that he'd yelled at her loud enough to make her cry when she was four years old and had tried to stick a letter opener in the electrical outlet: Because she'd scared him…not because she'd been defiant or disrespectful or even careless, not because she'd _earned_ a tongue lashing, but because he was angry – angry at her – for growing up and making it more likely that she would get hurt.

That sounded absurd even to his own ears. That wasn't protectiveness, or even over-protectiveness; it was unreasonableness.

Arthur looked at Clarisse's grumpy face as she sulkily waited for the kettle to boil, no doubt wondering what she had done wrong, and he felt guilty. He knew it would be easy to treat her like this for the rest of her life, like his little girl, as he described her to Rupert. Even she seemed to step automatically into the penitent daughter role when he scolded her. It would be easy, but it would be unfair. She had earned the right to be treated like an adult who deserved some respect. She'd earned it because she'd made it through the minefield of adolescence not only without winding up with the likes of Nigel Egan, but because she made choices and decisions that put her in a position for the Crown Prince to see her as a woman capable of ruling the country at his side, as well as a woman for whom he had an enduring affection.

He made a mental note to apologize to Vivianne; apologize and give thanks, because while he had apparently spent Clarisse's wonder years with his head in the sand, Vivianne had been minding the store, making sure that Clarisse had all the tools she would need to thrive in the adult world.

He decided it was time _he_ started acting like a grown up and, looking to make amends for irrationally making her feel bad, he said gently, "Well, it would seem your taste in men has improved over the years."

She took a glimpse at him, somewhat surprised that he'd conceded his argument to her. She relaxed into a smile at the sincerity on his face, "I'm glad you think so."

He smiled when her face softened. Mentally preparing to dive headlong into the long avoided subject, he took a deep breath, "Soooo…speaking of your man…he and I had a very successful sit down last night."

She smiled, "Yes, I know."

"Oh, so he told you about it?"

She shook her head as she turned to attend to the whistling kettle, "Well, not really. I spoke to him briefly this morning, but all he said was that he came away with his, and I quote, '_already considerable respect even more cemented_.'" She watched over her shoulder as her father chewed on that compliment before finishing, "And that he was glad when it was over."

Arthur looked at her with raised 'Who, wha, why?' eyebrows as she walked over with their tea.

She smirked as she sat down, "So...what did you do to him?"

He pleaded innocence, "Nothing! We had a very friendly drink and talked about you."

She eyed him, "You didn't make him squirm? Not even once?"

He hesitated ever so slightly before assuring her, "Noooo, not really."

She knew it, "Dad! What did you do?"

He shook his head, "No, really, really. I mean, yes, I waited for him to actually ask me for your hand, I didn't let him off the hook on that point. But, other than that, all I asked was that he take good care of you." He finished with a shrug at the simplicity of it all.

She watched him with suspicion, debating whether it was likely that she was going to get a more specific answer…from either one of them. Perhaps when she and Rupert were married for a while she could get a blow by blow from him, but at the moment, things seemed strictly to be mano-a-mano.

Arthur saw her skepticism and said, "Perhaps he was nervous and that's why he was glad it was over. It's not easy to ask a young woman's father for her hand in marriage – even for a prince."

She murmured, "Hmmm, especially when faced with a father not inclined to let him off the hook."

He said, as if it were all out of his hands, "Sweetheart, there isn't a man on this earth, commoner or Prince, who shouldn't have to sweat a little in order to win you in the end."

She rolled her eyes at his sentimentality, but with a smile. She groaned, "Good Lord, Dad. You didn't say that to him, did you?"

He shook his head, "Not at all. To his credit, he seemed to understand that instinctively."

She smiled and after a moment, she ventured more seriously, "Honestly, you like Rupert, don't you?"

Arthur smiled softly, "Yes, I do like him. He's a good man and I think will make a superb king."

Clarisse nodded, "So do I."

He added after a sip of tea, "He's very fond of you."

She smiled, "And I him. We were fast friends."

This is what he'd avoiding for weeks; the details. He checked himself and decided, right now, it felt…okay to hear them. He encouraged, "Do tell."

As he listened to her tell him all about her first meeting with Rupert and how easy she found him to talk to and the note he'd written on the invitation to dinner with his parents and what a gifted horseman he was, Arthur gave a good effort in getting comfortable with his new, less featured and more supporting role in Clarisse's life. It was a strange fit, but he didn't doubt, in time, he could do it. He could give her away without giving her _away. _After all, no matter what else, he was her father. No one else could be that to her, right? Right. Yes, he could do this. In time, he could do this. Hell, he might come to enjoy knowing Clarisse as an adult. In time.

She ran out of words as she shrugged with a sigh, "We'll see how things go from here, but so far so good."

He looked at her for a long moment, looking so much like a child, but sounding so much like an adult. "You're a good girl, Clarisse."

She agreed ruefully, "I know. That's why Nigel Egan didn't like me."

He laughed heartily and she joined in with him. Things felt better, he thought; much more like they used to be. He never again wanted to get to a place where it was difficult to talk to her, to sit and have tea and laugh with her. As hard as it was to believe and accept that she wasn't a child, and hadn't been for a while now, he knew that he had to make long overdue peace with that. And it needn't be all or nothing…she may no longer be _a_ child but she would always be _his_ child – she may not need him the way she used to, or as much as she used to, but she was his child; even as a married woman, even as a mother, even as a reigning Queen.

He smiled despite the burning behind his eyes, "I love you, Pet. More than anything in the world. You know that."

She nodded slowly, "I know that. I love you too, Dad."

He took at deep breath and nodded, "So, tell me about this polo match…"

TBC - this one's for you F/Rising!


	21. The Six Deadly Sins, And One to Grow On

Hello all,

For those clamoring for more Rupert your wait is over. This is merely part of the Polo Match, which considering how many ideas I have for it, may span a few chapters.

Just want to address something Sedri's review brought up…clearing up the timing of my story. I probably should have set the scene before now, but I only had a vague sense of it in my head and never really committed it to a timeline – here goes:

Knowing that Philippe was in college (around 20 years old) when Mia was conceived 15 years before the start of the movie, that meant he would only have been 35-ish, when he died in 2001. Now, given Clarisse's and Rupert's marriage was arranged, she must have been very young when they married – I have said 19-ish. For the sake of argument, assume that she had Pierre within a year or two (when she was 21-ish) and Philippe within two years after that (when she was 23-ish), that would mean that in 2001 (when Philip was 35) she would have been roughly 58 years old (not 64-ish, as Julie Andrews was when she made the movie) making Clarisse's birthday somewhere around 1940 - making this story around 1960!

Speaking to Sedri's specific questions, jeans _were_ being worn by teenagers at that time, at least in the U.S. (Anyone old enough to have seen 'Grease'? Anyone???? That was set in 1950's America) As for Europe, I do know that in 'To Sir With Love', set in London (albeit a tougher part of London than Genovia sounds), some of the kids wore jeans – granted that was late 60's. I did own up to not being European at one point, so, if I'm wrong that kids wore jeans in Europe, I plead my American-ness on the denim front.

As they say, the devil is in the details, so I do want to hear the gripes as well as the encouragement (thank you for both, Sedri). I know it's only a fanfic, but I would like it to be a good one, so please feel free to let fly with the complaints and criticisms.

Happy reading!

(And, I know it has seemed like it's taken over a year, but as glacially slow as this story is moving I've only been writing it since October! I would like to think I'd finish within the year, but I make no promises. We may all be sitting here next Halloween.)

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**21April 9, 1960**

"Alright, now; remember, the press knows that I will be having a guest in the family box, so when you get out of the car you'll need to be prepared for the sound of camera shutters going off. Don't let it startle you. Do the best you can to pretend you don't notice anything."

Clarisse nodded obediently, though Rupert was staring distractedly out the car window as he was talking and didn't notice. It was no matter; she'd gotten this same debriefing at least twice from Marcel in the last couple of days, not to mention countless times from Rupert himself since just yesterday. She didn't bother to interrupt him; it seemed to calm his nerves, hearing himself go over these details. He'd been getting progressively more and more tense the closer this polo match got and Clarisse didn't want to do anything that might send him around the bend. She had momentarily wondered if she should be offended that he might think she'd make a mess of the 'standing around looking pretty' assignment she'd been given, but decided not to dwell on it.

Actually, she was more fascinated by the sight of the usually so equable Rupert experiencing a bout of nerves. Perhaps she should be a little ashamed of herself, but his uneasiness made her feel more calm. For one thing, if he was going to be nervous, that pretty much meant that she couldn't be. This whole escapade would be a disaster if they were _both_ suffering high anxiety, so, realistically they had no choice but to be edgy in shifts. She decided to give him this one. She knew she was going to have plenty of instances in the near future when she was going to need him to be the sane one.

More than that, though, it comforted her to know that he was…human, really. In his usual state he was so comfortable and relaxed and handled everything with so much aplomb that being around his affable nature could be… ironically intimidating. She found herself feeling much more his equal in a moment like this.

Rupert continued his recitation, "Marcel assured me that the setup will be virtually identical to the last event, which means that the press will be off to our right as we get out of the car."

"In their pen." Clarisse suggested helpfully. In one of his many tellings of this plan, he mentioned that the press would be confined in a roped off area to the side of the field 'like a bunch of hogs', was how he'd put it.

Rupert turned his head, looking almost surprised that she was there. He smiled, "Yes, in their pen." When she smiled back at him, he apologized, "I'm getting on your nerves, aren't I?"

"Not at all. It never hurts to be thorough."

"Am I being too thorough?"

She considered, "Well, I don't know if it's possible to be too thorough, but you don't want tie yourself in a knot."

"Too late." He took a deep breath and looked out the window with a slight shake of his head.

She smiled, "Well, then, yes, you are being too thorough."

She peered over at him as he gazed out at the scenery and tried to read his face. She didn't want to make him even more agitated by pestering him to talk to her, but by the same token, didn't want to ignore the fact that he was clearly nervous, leaving him to feel like he was shouldering everything by himself. She was flying a bit blind, not really knowing him well enough to know what he would prefer she do.

She decided to go with her instinct; to do what she thought a wife would do for her husband: help him until he told her to leave him alone. She offered quietly, "You know, between yours and Marcel's help, I really do think I have a handle on things."

He looked over at her, momentarily not understanding her point, when it dawned on him. He shook his head with a warm smile, "Oh, no. No, I'm not worried about you, Clarisse. I have no doubt at all that you will handle yourself perfectly."

She was more relieved than she thought she'd be, hearing that he had confidence in her. She didn't think she'd given him reason to doubt her, but, again, they didn't know one another _that_ well and…well, one could never be sure. She wanted very much to do him proud this afternoon and her confidence soared to hear it didn't even occur to him to worry that she wouldn't do just that. She felt much more secure in questioning him a bit more directly, "Why, then, have you tied yourself in a knot?"

He shrugged, gazing out the window, "I'm not sure, really. I've just never done anything exactly like this before. I mean, I've brought dates to events and have had to answer questions about my personal life certainly, …but, this is …well, this is different." He looked over at her and said simply, "It all matters this time. It never did before."

She nodded in understanding, "It's much easier to be glib as a playboy."

He laughed, "Something like that. But, that's my worry; I don't want to come across as glib. I don't want to come across as maudlin, either, for that matter. I just want to come across as genuine…the problem being that I've rehearsed being genuine so much that I don't remember what genuineness sounds like anymore." He looked at her and frowned ruefully, "I've given myself a bear of a headache."

She said strongly, "You need to derail your train of thought. You do intimidating things every day of your life, surely you must have some tricks to distract yourself from getting snowed under by stress."

He deliberated on that for a moment, "'Tricks'? No, now that you mention it. I usually…well, shamelessly wallow in my nervousness, I suppose." He looked at her with curiosity, "Why? What 'tricks' do you have?" He cringed suddenly, "Don't tell me you picture everyone naked?"

She rolled her eyes dismissively, "No, of course not."

He nodded, "Oh, good. With the amount of time you'll be spending in front of parliament, you'll not want to be relying on such a trick in the future."

She laughed and clarified, "I make lists."

He looked slightly confused, "Grocery lists? Christmas lists?"

"Nothing quite so productive. Just…lists of general things; things one should, or would likely know." One of the many lists she'd been struggling to complete on the day she was to meet him for the first time sprang to mind. She asked, " For instance, can you name the seven deadly sins?"

The look on his face said she had caught him a bit flat-footed, but not averse to taking up her gauntlet. He absently gazed at the ceiling, eyebrows furrowed in thought, and Clarisse decided that, in addition to helping divert his mind's attention from this afternoon, she was going to tap his brain; maybe he could name the seventh sin, which, frustratingly, never did come to her.

As Clarisse mentally recapped her six-sin list, Rupert began his own, "Well, let's see…there's 'lust'…"

Clarisse blinked and closed her mouth with comical amazement; without much ado, he'd coughed up the elusive last item on her list ….and it was 'lust', for heaven's sake.

Rupert caught the bowled over expression on her face and stopped his ruminations. He laughed slightly at how genuinely surprised she looked. The RCA dog sitting at his record player had much the same expression. "What is it?"

She looked in his face with utter candor and shook her head, "That was the one I couldn't get."

His smile deepened, "What do you mean? When?"

She explained, embarrassment creeping up on her, "The day we met, when I was waiting for you, this was the list I was working on and I could only come up with six."

He laughed outright, "You forgot 'lust'?"

She helplessly admitted with a shaky laugh, "Yes."

Still laughing, he dramatically rubbed his chin and pondered, "Hmmm…I wonder if that means something?"

She raised her eyebrows trying to adopt some glibness of her own, "Well, I think it's more telling that it was the _first_ one that occurred to you."

He half-coughed, half laughed, "Oh, well…I don't know about that…"

She narrowed her eyes, "Alright, then. Proceed with your list; let's see which one occurs to _you _last…if at all."

She was trying to sound cavalier, but was scrambling to say something to hide her embarrassment at having forgotten, of all things, 'lust'. She hated herself for being self-conscious, but 'lust' not even occurring to her made her feel so…childish. Especially in front of the 31 year old man she was going to marry.

He mulled her challenge over, eyeing her with amusement. "Alright, I will. Of course, you realize you will never _really _know which one I remembered last. I mean, I can dole them out in any order I choose if I remember them all in my head."

"Oh, my, aren't we confident?" She looked at him shrewdly, "Not that it would much matter. Whichever sin you _choose_ to announce last will speak volumes in and of itself."

He felt vaguely checkmated as he digested her comment, "Ah, yes – well. Perhaps."

She chortled and prodded , "Alright, let's get on with it. Your count stands at one."

He got serious and began his list. "Let's see, there is, of course, 'lust'. There's 'wrath'…'gluttony'…'envy', 'sloth'…uhm …" He lapsed into concentration, repeating quietly to himself the sins he'd just remembered.

She was about to tease him about what it meant to forget two sins when he victoriously erupted, "Greed! Avarice - Greed!"

She nodded, "Yes, I'll accept either greed or avarice, though they don't count as two. You still have one more."

He looked at her levelly, "Ha, ha." He regrouped briskly, "Alright, one more."

He then proceeded to spend the next three full minutes struggling to come up with the final sin. She watched with, admittedly, some smugness as he ritualistically repeated the already enumerated sins, always running into a wall after the sixth. When he ran his list once again and discovered that he'd lost one along the way, only coming up with five, she bit her lip so as not to laugh. Perhaps this was not a good idea. She'd certainly distracted him from the upcoming afternoon, but now he was cursing under his breath.

Finally, he looked at her completely flummoxed, "I cannot believe I can't come up with the last one." His eyes narrowed slightly, "You know what it is, don't you?"

She broke the news gently, "Yes. Yes, I do."

"Don't tell me!" He spent another moment struggling, almost physically, to force his mind to conjure the blasted last sin, but to no avail. He slumped defeatedly against the back of the seat and closed his eyes, "Alright, tell me what it is."

She looked at him with sympathy, "Are you sure?" When he nodded, she cautioned, "Brace yourself. You're going to be annoyed when you hear it."

He sighed, "I know I am. Go ahead – let me hear it."

She paused dramatically and announced, "_Pride_."

He groaned in sheer frustration. "Ugh, I can't believe I forgot 'Pride'. That is so infuriating."

She nodded in mock seriousness, "Mmm. I'm sure."

After a moment, he said grandly, "Well, I think the only conclusion that can be drawn from this experiment is that the last sin that springs to one's mind, is the sin one is least likely to commit."

She burst out laughing and he looked at her in genuine surprise, "What is so funny?"

Trying to restrain from laughing even more, she explained, "Well, I think your theory might be a tad flawed, Rupert. I mean, when 'pride' is the last deadly sin that occurs to a man so bold as to predict he'd not only remember all seven, but prioritize them in his head and recite them so as to come out looking as 'sinless' as possible….well, that's doesn't exactly bespeak 'humility', does it?"

He began to try and build a defense, "Well,…"

Clarisse interrupted briskly with a wave of her hands, "I have a different theory."

He raised his eyebrows benevolently, "Ah-ha. Why am I not surprised?"

She asked hopefully, "Would you like to hear it?"

He sighed indulgently, "Of course, my dear. Theorize away."

She leaned in enthusiastically, "Well, I think the last sin that occurs to someone is the sin they think… is the least sinful."

She finished with a look that said, 'How bout them apples?' She had been so relieved and impressed with herself that she'd pulled this theory out of thin air that she considered admitting to him that it wasn't so much a theory, which implied some thought, but a lightning bolt of inspiration.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and chewed on her take for a moment. He observed slowly, "Well, that certainly puts a whole new spin on _your_ glaring omission; one which definitely bodes well from my perspective."

She smiled knowingly, "Yes, I thought you'd notice that."

He nodded, "Mmm. Yes, I think you're right about my premise being flawed. Yours is much more sound."

She smiled, "What's even better is that considering your very revealing oversight of 'pride', it means I can be as boastful as I want the next time we ride and I invariably beat you."

Rupert opened his mouth to say something when the real world interjected itself in the form of the intercom clicking on and the driver's voice announcing, "Two minutes to the polo grounds, Your Highness."

Rupert's attention went to the window as he oriented himself to where they were, noting the familiar tree lined road that led to the gates of the grounds. They were indeed close to their date with destiny. He answered absently into his own intercom, "Thank you, David."

He turned back toward Clarisse who was taking a look out her own window. He watched as she took a breath and let it out slowly, at the same time sitting up straighter and smoothing out her dress. Her face, almost imperceptibly, composed itself into the very picture of calm confidence and, in a blink, she looked five years older. No, not older; five years more mature. It was quite a transformation to watch.

When she felt him looking at her and turned her calm face to him, he mused quietly "You look lovely. Did I remember to tell you that in the midst of my mental strain?"

She blushed slightly, just like she did when he'd said it at the door of the palace. "Yes, you did remember. But, thank you again."

He smiled at the color in her face, taking small satisfaction in the knowledge that he'd put it there. He laughed to himself; perhaps he really _didn't_ think pride was a sin. He took a deep breath, noticing for the first time what a perfect day they had for the match. When he woke up this morning he'd thought it would be cold and possibly rain, but now things couldn't have been more spring-like if he'd ordered this day directly from mother nature. His headache seemed to be gone as well, he noticed without much surprise.

They rode in silence for a bit when David's voice could be heard again over the intercom, "We're approaching the gates, Your Highness."

"Thank you, David."

They each turned and looked at one another for a long moment before Rupert said, "Well…this is it."

She joked softly, "The point of no return."

He debated with himself for only a few seconds before he slowly moved over to her and leaned in, placing a soft kiss on her lips. When he withdrew slightly and saw the vague look of surprise behind her even deeper blush, he explained quietly, "A kiss for luck."

She held his gaze for a moment before saying quietly, "There was a time when that would mean you would _have_ to marry me."

He smiled ever so slightly and almost whispered, "That's why I did it. I don't even believe in luck."

She breathed, "Ahh." She'd never been this close to Rupert before and was coming a bit undone by his nearness. She'd thought he was a handsome man before, someone who looked very attractive in both suits and riding gear, but now, with him only inches from her, she was hyper-aware of things she'd never noticed; like the way, when he smiled, his very dark brown eyes seem to smile too, or the vague scent of soap and spice that wafted over her when he'd leaned close, or how broad his shoulders were.

'This', she said to herself as she stared into Rupert's face, 'is a _man_.' An obvious observation, yes, but profound as far as she was concerned. Rupert was a man. A grown man …he drank brandy, he smoked cigars, he played polo, he cursed at parliamentarians. He'd slept with any number of women.

Soon, he'd sleep with her.

She was caught almost breathless at the frankness of that thought…and the suddenly unabashed interest she had at the prospect.

She was shocked at what the thought did to her…where was the fear, the self doubt? Nowhere to be found at the moment. This undeniably vigorous and imposing man had just leaned over and kissed her, and it didn't make her uncomfortable, it made her feel…heady. Attractive. Possessive of him. Spitefully proud he would be hers.

Whew…she heard the theory that power was an aphrodisiac before but never really gave it much thought one way or the other. At the moment she was a true believer.

Before her equilibrium returned, and not quite believing she was doing it, she closed the distance between them and kissed him back.

It was Rupert's turn to wear a look of curiosity, and when she drew back a little he smiled gently, "What was that for?"

It was on her lips to say 'lust' but didn't dare. She shrugged with the slightest indication of self-consciousness, and gave him the more tame, but still, for her, bold response, "Gave into an impulse."

He smiled more broadly, still only a few inches from her face, "Ah, the best reason in the world."

She said nothing, marveling at the fact that he didn't seem nearly as shocked that she'd actually kissed him as she was. He leaned back in his seat, and she did the same. She looked out the window again, trying to get her sketchy breathing back to normal, almost wanting to laugh out loud. She'd set out to distract him from his nervousness, and now here she was, all keyed up.

She felt the car slow to a crawl, then come to stop as Rupert took her hand. She looked over at him and was greeted with a reassuring nod. He said, "Remember, the right side."

She nodded quickly, "Yes, right side, don't flinch."

He gave her hand a squeeze and nodded to the security man after he positioned himself to open the car door. "Alright, my dear. Time to meet our public."

TBC...


	22. The Polo Match, Trial By Fire

Hi everyone. Let me just take a moment to thank everyone for their reviews. I received a great many in the last weeks and do appreciate the effort. (Especially Melchy who went on a marathon reading/reviewing session.)

This chapter is my first offering on the Polo Match. Depending on how long it takes to put my ideas to paper, I think I have at least two more chapters on the Match. Again, if I can crank them out in a coherent way, I might combine them into one hefty chapter. Who knows.

Anyway, enjoy the read and please weigh in. Thanks all.

K

…………………………………………

Rupert had been correct. The sound of one hundred cameras going off _is_ very unsettling, even when you're waiting for it.

Sitting in the royal viewing box, waiting for the match to begin, Clarisse simply couldn't believe that that she'd been a public figure for close to an hour and a half now. Stepping out of the limo and into the surprisingly loud cacophony of camera shutters seemed to have happened mere moments ago, but it was only now that things had quieted down, at least in her mind, that she really began to remember what that hour and a half was like.

When she and Rupert had walked the gauntlet from where the car had let them off to the entrance to the boxes, Clarisse had held tight to the one saving grace of the situation: it wasn't an evening event and all those camera shutters weren't flashbulbs. The odds on an embarrassing entrance into Genovian royal society would have skyrocketed had she been struck with flashbulb blindness. As it was, it had taken every ounce of physical control she possessed to keep from jumping, flinching, turning away, _running_ away from the powerful lunge of reporters and photographers against the ropes of their pen. But…she'd made it. If anyone had gotten a bad photo of her it was because she wasn't photogenic, not because she'd been shocked into making a peculiar face as she stepped out of the car.

Getting out of the car, as it turned out, had been the most difficult task of the day. Even the free floating anxiety she'd harbored over Rupert's and her entrance to the pre-match cocktail party, the logistics of which had been up in the air as late as that morning, turned out to be for naught. She'd been prepared to handle whatever was asked of her, including meandering stoically through the most overblown of pomp and circumstance style entrances, but the planets had aligned sufficiently for their 'big reveal' to be a decidedly muted affair. When the three limos carrying Etienne and Sara, Madeleine, and she and Rupert hadn't gotten separated from one another as Marcel feared might happen because of the cross purposes of the expansive driveway – horse-trailers to the left, cars carrying bipeds to the right – he'd decided to take advantage of the good fortune and herd, so to speak, all five of them into the event together as a group. As a result, there was no metaphorical blaring of horns announcing the newest royal couple; something for which Clarisse was supremely grateful.

Without the spectacle, what had been left was a rather lovely cocktail party, albeit one tinged with the slightest fragrance of livestock. She'd had a few anxious moments after their arrival, suffering a intensely debilitating case of paralysis under the sudden and insistent gawking of the people milling about. She had expected it, of course, the fishbowl existence being the single most non-negotiable factor of the job and marriage, but the sheer shamelessness of the ogling, the blatant craning of heads just to get a look at her, the brazen way people had huddled and talked about them while openly staring…it had been very startling. Startling and oppressive. She'd struggled mightily to maintain an air of quiet obliviousness to it all, but she could almost physically feel the weight of eyes constantly upon her, almost as if, now that she'd gotten their attention, they were waiting for her to do something to justify their interest. And there was the rub; she had a spotlight on her, yet had done nothing to warrant it. She'd not just given a stirring speech, or made some never before heard suggestion on how to balance the budget, or even walked out of the ladies room with her dress tucked in the back of her pantyhose. Still, they'd stared at her. All because of the man who'd stood beside her.

And, blessedly, stand beside her, Rupert had. He'd told her numerous times that he would remain close at the party, but not be overly affectionate. He hadn't wanted to do anything that would unduly tempt the roaming photographers, not to mention the guests who he felt were going to have enough to discuss regarding the two of them without giving them a show. She had agreed fully with the wisdom behind his plan, believing he was correct and that was the best course of action. She'd ventured forth secure in the knowledge that the two of them were of like minds…until Rupert had gone and forgotten the plan. Or had abandoned it. Perhaps sensing how much more difficult this was going to be for her in the actual doing than in the theoretical planning, he hadn't broken physical contact with her from the moment he'd taken her hand in the limousine. He'd either had his hand in hers, or on her back or had tucked her arm through his for the entirety of the pre-match mingle. Whether he was nervous for her, or about her, or just feeling friendly after their conversation in the limo, she didn't know. She'd simply delighted in the gesture, no matter what prompted it.

Of course, pleasant surprise though it had been, having him so close had made it that much harder to say goodbye when it came time for him to leave and get ready for the match. He'd subtly segregated them from the crowd so as to have a few words before he left – mostly of encouragement and confidence that she would be fine. She'd wished him luck in the match and he'd joked that as long as she didn't say 'break a leg' he'd be fine. He'd given both of her hands a reassuring squeeze before he caught Etienne's eye and left to get ready for the competition.

She'd felt immediately exposed without him, but Madeleine and Sara had stepped into the fray, taking control of things, making sure Clarisse was kept as occupied as she could be in the time before the party ended. God love Sara, she was simply a marvel at mingling. There was no one at this event she didn't seem to know, no subject on which she wouldn't dive right in, no silence she wasn't afraid to fill. She'd introduced Clarisse to friends of hers, friends of Etienne's, friends of hers and Etienne's, friends of Madeleine's (who'd unceremoniously abandoned the two of them when a cherished former classmate unexpectedly turned up), friends of the King and Queen, friends of friends of friends. When Sara hadn't been scouring the landscape for people to make a beeline for, she'd been receiving the numerous friends and acquaintances of Rupert's who'd come by and introduced themselves. Clarisse had vaguely recognized some of them from the newspapers – both legitimate and tabloid, she was amused to note – and little by little had become aware of the amount of influence and power currently congregating in this one place.

If a bomb had hit the polo grounds the worlds of politics, business, entertainment, sports and high-society would have been virtually eviscerated. Policy makers, heads of corporations, award winning actors, star soccer players, members of some of the oldest and most respected families in Genovia had been standing within an arm's length of her, and some of them had actually wanted to meet her. The strangest thing was that rather than feel intimidated, she'd been oddly comforted by their presence. The claustrophobic feeling of being the center attention started to dissipate once her focus began to turn outward, rather than inward. She'd realized that while, yes, she was a curiosity, _these _were the people who should be watched and _their _accomplishments the subject of everyone's whispered conversations. The relief she felt at that dose of humbling perspective was immeasurable and had anchored her right back down to earth, where she was eminently more comfortable. She'd no longer needed to work at appearing unmindful of the attention, because in talking to these genuinely fascinating and impressive people, she'd forgotten to be aware of it.

She had no way of knowing whether she had been a success or not as far as the palace was concerned, but she counted it as a personal triumph that she'd made it to the royal viewing box at all.

"…life so far?"

Her train of thought was slowly interrupted as she became aware of Sara speaking to her. "I'm sorry, Sara. What did you say."

Sara repeated, "I asked how you liked living the royal life so far?"

Clarisse smiled and attempted to condense her just articulated inner monologue enough to answer Sara's question. With a deep exhale, she said, "Well, I feel a bit like an animal in the zoo, but I'm getting used to it, I think."

Sara laughed, "That's exactly how I described the first time I went out on Etienne's arm. I didn't tell you about it before because I didn't want to make you nervous, but I had a _horrible_ time on my first 'date' with Etienne." At Clarisse's raised eyebrows, Sara nodded, "It was a correspondence dinner. Black-tie, red carpet, rubbery chicken, a pear sculpted out of ice; the works."

Clarisse marveled slowly, "Oh, my. That sounds awfully intimidating. How did you get through it?"

Sara shrugged as if she had no idea, herself, "Well, Marcel's invaluable training took over, thank God. I must have simply gone on auto pilot, frankly, because I don't have a clear recollection of any particular part of the evening; just vague memories of an inordinate amount of hand shaking and repeating 'Lovely to meet you.' eight hundred times, with what I thought was a pleasant smile on my face. I came to find out, when I watched the footage of the event some time later, that through most of the evening I resembled a jack-o-lantern."

Clarisse tried to hide a cringe as she offered, "Oh, I'm sure you're just being hard on yourself."

Sara remembered, "Actually, that was Marcel's take on things, if I'm not mistaken."

Clarisse said a silent prayer of thanks to whomever scheduled this polo match for today, unknowingly saving her from the Parliament Dinner being her maiden voyage into the world of public life. "Well, then yes, this event is definitely preferable to a formal black-tie affair." Remembering her own observations when she first faced the crowds, Clarisse said, "The flashbulbs alone would have done me in at a correspondence dinner."

Sara shook her head, "No, you would have been fine. Some people have the knack for this kind of life, and some people don't. You do."

Clarisse shook her head slowly with eyebrows furrowed, "Oh, I don't know…"

Sara nodded definitively, "No, as my father would say, you are definitely someone you want in the foxhole when the shooting starts." At Clarisse's openly confused face, Sara explained, "My father's a military man. It means during times of stress, you can be counted on to perform."

Clarisse nodded with a small smile at the analogy, "Oh, I see." After a moment she observed, "Well, Marcel's review aside, you certainly seem to have 'the knack'. You don't look the least perturbed by all the hoopla."

Sara gave a ladylike shrug, "Well, I've got over two years of experience at this by now. And, of course, things don't ever get quite so overwrought around the 'spare' as they do around the 'heir'."

When she saw Clarisse raise her eyebrows in question, Sara held up her hands, "Those are Etienne's words, not mine, lest you should think I'm speaking ill of my husband."

Clarisse shook her head with a smile, "A sense of humor must be a Renaldi family trait."

Sara nodded, "Oh, yes. They simply have to have a sense of humor about themselves or they wouldn't be able to function in the spotlight. Her Majesty taught her children the importance of duty, but the King taught them not to take themselves more seriously than they would anyone inhabiting the streets of Genovia."

Clarisse smiled as she thought about Rupert and Etienne, "They did a fine job, the King and Queen."

Sara said warmly, "Yes, they did." After a pause, Sara ruminated, "I think that's at least part of the reason that they didn't arrange marriages for Rupert and Etienne, or Madeleine for that matter, when they were children. They didn't necessarily want the boys to marry women who came from within the monarchy; you know, a third cousin twelve times removed, or some politically useful man's daughter; something of that sort. The King and Queen wanted them to have genuine connections with people, not just rely on their titles as a way of making connections. They encouraged the three of them to mix among people, learn how to interact and form their own relationships."

Her face registering only the most subtle trace of a smirk, Clarisse chortled wryly, almost to herself, "I imagine, these days, Her Majesty is somewhat regretting allowing Rupert _that_ particular freedom."

Sara looked sidelong at Clarisse, immediately understanding her reference. She didn't have much doubt that Clarisse was sharp, but wasn't sure whether she'd fully read the Queen's ambivalence toward her the night of the family dinner. The calm but knowing look on Clarisse's face as she gazed back at Sara confirmed that nothing about the Queen's feelings were lost on Clarisse. Given her willingness to remark, even joke about it, Sara realized Clarisse was hardier than she looked. Young or not, low key or not, Sara thought she just might like her soon to be sister-in-law.

In the spirit of camaraderie, Sara responded to Clarisse's allusion in kind, "Well, I know that _His_ Majesty is still kicking himself for not securing Etienne a bride when he had the chance."

Clarisse gave Sara an appraising look. She had lobbed her own salvo as a way of confirming the Queen's feelings about her, and was now trying to discern whether Sara's comment was sincere, or simply a way of baiting Clarisse into speak out of turn. She saw no deception on Sara's face, however, just the resignation that comes with admitting an unflattering truth. Clarisse said with a hit of doubt, "No…"

Sara nodded in confirmation, "Yes. As unbelievable as it sounds, if he'd had his druthers, King Henri would not have chosen me to marry his younger son."

Clarisse considered this interesting, and she had to admit, comforting bit of news. "Hmm. Well, there's no accounting for taste, I suppose."

Sara shook her head reflectively, gazing absently out at the polo field. She confessed, not without humor, "It was the damn horses that did me in with Henri. I tell you Clarisse, there are very few subjects that I have not even a slight interest in, but one of them is horsemanship." She brightened up after a moment, "You, however, have filled the vacuum with your ability to wax equine; I may suffer by comparison to you as far as the King is concerned, but at least the pressure is off me to discuss the subject. You've saved me; I'm forever in your debt."

Clarisse said wryly, "I'm so glad I could be of help. Perhaps you can one day return the favor with regard to Her Majesty."

Sara looked at Clarisse, "Yes, it would seem that I have the Queen's endorsement and you the King's."

Clarisse smiled, "So, between the two of us, we've managed to charm the nation's royal couple."

Sara smiled in return, "No small task, that." She continued more seriously after a shared laugh, "Trust me, Clarisse, whatever…reservations Katherine may or may not have…they aren't personal. When she looks at you, she only sees the role you'll play, not who you are. Her one and only concern is Genovia. If you take good care of Genovia in her stead, you will win her respect." A dry, but still serious tone crept into her voice as she concluded, "As much as she, and Henri for that matter, may doubt the wisdom of letting their children choose their own spouses, they both truly believe that the monarchy will be stronger if it is influenced by people who've actually 'inhabited the streets of Genovia', to use a phrase."

Clarisse looked at Sara, daughter of a military man, and smiled gently, "So do I."

Sara grinned and gave a conspirators nod, "Without a doubt." She looked back to the field before finishing her thought, "That's why I think you'll do just fine. You may need some time, but, as I said, you've got the knack. You struck the perfect note in there. At that ill-fated correspondence dinner, I was overeager; I smiled too big, I laughed too loud. To be perfectly honest, I thought you would come across exactly the opposite. I was convinced that you were going to be very shy and quiet. But, you weren't. You came across as composed but friendly – the perfect impression to leave. That's why I kept introducing you around, because seemed fine. You have 'the knack'." She finished with a reassuring nod and smile, "You'll see. Marcel will tell you."

Clarisse digested what Sara, by all appearances, seemed actually to believe. She took a breath and raised her eyebrows, still skeptical, "Well, time will tell, I suppose. I've had to conquer the urge to run more than once today. My own family hasn't ever wanted my picture as badly as these reporters do."

Sara laughed, "You wouldn't think so, but you do get used to them. Just don't get _so _used to them that you forget they are there. That, my dear, is the key."

They both hazarded a casual glance up the sidelines where the press was roped in their own little section, every last one of them unrepentantly ignoring the goings on on the field and ogling them. Clarisse wasn't surprised, they had a job to do, but she wondered just exactly how many pictures they needed of the same person doing the same thing. She was just sitting here, after all; unless, of course, each one of them was hoping to be the one to take the picture of her falling out of her chair or spilling iced tea all over herself.

She instantly realized, in fact, that was precisely what they were doing.

TBC...


	23. The Polo Match, The 4th Estate

Hola, everyone.

More of the polo match…(don't you love detailed summaries?)

Thanks to everyone for the reviews, and please give a hand to Melchy who managed to slog through the entire 21 chapters in one big haul and is now caught up with all of us.

Hope to have another chapter soon, but my computer time seems less in the nicer weather…ah, Spring.

Have a good read!

"Okay, Poll-Taking-Time!" Otto announced loudly as he turned to his cohorts in the press pen while scribbling some notes. Otto's impromptu polls were legend among the reporters and photographers of the press corps. Otto, himself, was a legend among the press corps, having been reporting on Palace news for The Genovian Times for over 25 years. Not that that meant he didn't have to do his job from behind the ropes that formed the famed pen just like everyone else, much to his annoyance, but it did mean that when the spirit moved him, he could call for the attention of everyone who did ply their trade there.

There was the slightest hint of a collective sigh at Otto's announcement, but, love them or hate them, Otto's polls did serve to pass the time during a lull in the action. Someone mumbled loudly, "Let's hear it."

Otto stated simply, "Is it love or is it business?"

Faces contorted into various expressions of thoughtfulness as the reporters and photographers considered Otto's question. They all knew what Otto was asking; it was a question that had been asked in all corners of the country for years, but with the Palace making no secret of Prince Rupert's intention to marry very soon, was being very heavily debated even more feverishly. The question: When Prince Rupert married, whomever he married, would it be for love or convenience?

The subject of their Crown Prince was a well loved one for Genovians. Genovia might be a modest country, but the citizens of the tiny principality were very proud of their suave heir to the throne and would put Prince Rupert up against any other Prince in Europe in looks, sophistication, charm and all around irresistibility. Cutting as dashing a figure as he did, it was no surprise that Prince Rupert's social life was very active and exciting. Over the years, he'd been linked with any number of high profile women ranging from European royalty to world renowned opera singers to the daughters of power players throughout the country. Sometimes at the same time. Most of Genovia had spent the Prince's prime dating years amused, entertained and intrigued by every salacious detail that was permitted to be reported about his exploits.

Perhaps Genovia being such a small country and it's citizens living under a monarchy that had been ruled by the same family for as far back as anyone could remember explained why there was an almost instinctive sense by the nation at large that things had changed. Somehow, they knew precisely when the Prince had stopped sowing his wild oats and started getting serious about his life. No longer looking for a vicarious thrill by reveling in his personal life, the people of Genovia now began to pay close attention to His Highness's dalliances knowing that any woman he escorted to this function or that could be their next Queen.

The press, in particular, had been waiting for that precise moment for well over a decade; waiting for the moment when the royal public relations machinery rumbled to life and started laying the groundwork for history making news. Not simply the usual photo op of some lovely on the arm of the Prince, but tangible signs that the very makeup of the country was going to change; the prince's high profile social life slowing down, for instance, or the Palace talking often and grandly about the future of the monarchy, or most tellingly, hints from Marcel that the Prince might be spending time with one woman in particular.

The press had almost been afraid to say anything out loud, but they all noticed that the atmosphere on the Palace beat over the last few months had been moving slowly in that very direction. Prince Rupert had not appeared 'on the town' in quite some time, limiting his public events to those that had to do with affairs of State. More and more he attended meetings with His Majesty, sometimes attending them in his stead. In and of themselves, these subtle changes in the way things had been conducted at the Palace up to this point were enough to get the reporters' wind up, but it was during an ostensibly off-the-record chat with some of the members of the press that Marcel got them nervous and jerky. In response to one photographer's not quite idle lament that he hadn't had anything interesting to photograph with the Prince seeming to have abandoned the party circuit, Marcel casually let 'slip' that His Highness had been doing his entertaining privately at the Palace. The conversation that followed, under the guise of a casual, water-cooler, 'You didn't hear it from me' chat amongst colleagues usually on opposite side of a tug of war, confirmed the shift in the status quo. Marcel had subtly put the press on notice that there would be specific information forthcoming about the future of the Renaldi sovereignty, and the press had tacitly assured Marcel they were on board with his long term plan for disseminating the eagerly coveted information.

They all knew the moment had come the day before yesterday when Marcel gave his usual pre-event press briefing for the polo match and included mention of a 'guest' that the Prince had invited to sit in the royal box.

And…there she sat, the graceful, fare haired-possible – some would say, simply by virtue of her presence at this event, _probable_ – future Queen of Genovia. But had she captured the Prince's heart or was she simply a means to an end?

Trying to find some evidence one way or the other, some of the press pen looked to the Prince, having come off the field of play and currently chatting with his brother on the sidelines, while others looked at his lady-friend, at the moment sipping a drink and chatting with Duchess Sara while watching the field.

Marcus, the youngest of the photographers at 25, piped up as he gazed at Clarisse, "Well, I don't know about Prince Rupert, but…_I'm_ in love."

Roland, a much more seasoned member of the press with three whole years in the pen on Marcus, rolled his eyes, "Criminy, Marcus. Aiming a bit high, no?"

Sean, poised perfectly between the rookies and vets at 37, lowered his camera and inquired of anyone in particular, "How old do you put her? I was thinking about 23?"

Otto shook his head with certainty, "Oh, no. If that girl is a day over 19 I'll eat my hat."

Roland looked at Otto and then back over to Clarisse, "19? You think she's that young?"

Otto sounded even more sure of himself as he looked at Clarisse, "Guaranteed. She's no older than my daughter."

Roland was careful not to react. He'd met Otto's daughter. Lovely though she was, no one would confuse Margaret with the refined young woman currently sitting in the royal viewing box. _Everyone_ knew that Maggie was a teenager. He decided the safest response was an absent one, "Well, we'll know after the Prince graces us with a few words. Or Marcel does."

Sean observed quietly after a moment, "A very pretty girl."

There were murmurs of agreement from reporters and photographers of all ages, Otto included. Roland remarked, "Not really His Highness's type, though. He usually goes for the 'sporty brunette' variety. This girl is a bit on the willowy side."

Marcus asked after a minute, "Has the Prince ever even dated a blond?"

Roland's mind ran through the Prince's recent dating history, "No, I don't think so. The only one close was Lady Buchanan…but she was dirty blond, at most."

Sean eyed Clarisse critically, "Hmm…she's definitely a more disciplined girl than we're used to seeing from the Prince. She hasn't looked over at us once. Most of the Prince's girls give us a 'wink, wink, nudge, nudge' look that says they know we're here. This one…not a thing."

Otto intoned in a voice that bespoke of his unabashed belief in his own wisdom, "Let's not forget, gentlemen, that all the ladies the Prince dated before were for fun. Not one of them was ever going to be Queen, which is probably why he dated them in the first place. This one…" He chucked his chin in the general direction of Clarisse, "…this one is for the Crown. You can bet cash money that this girl is the answer to a very complicated equation, the factors of which include parliament, the people – and of course, we, of the press – but most importantly, Her Majesty."

Roland asked, genuinely curious, "You think Her Majesty chose her?"

Otto shrugged, "Maybe not outright, but she had to have a say. There was no way that the Queen was ever going to let His Highness marry any of the girls he dated in the past. Like I said, they were for him. This one is for Genovia."

Sean looked skeptically at the cynical Otto, "Well, the only thing that would make me disagree with you is that I don't think the Prince is that…obedient, frankly. I mean, he publicly differed with Their Majesties over the whole contentious tax code issue last year; I really don't think if he's willing to do that, that he's going to marry a woman he doesn't want to just to please his mother. He's got women crawling all over him; he could find someone that could do the job and…uh, keep the home fires burning."

Marcus piped up, "Yeah, and you heard what Stefan said. At the cocktail party, they looked pretty chummy. He said every picture he got they were holding hands. He thought they were a real couple; he bought it."

Otto looked at Marcus's with weary disdain, "Just because Stefan was asked to roam the party with a camera doesn't mean he has some special skill in reading people. It just means that he's got good hand/eye coordination." Otto continued confidently knowing that he had the ear of a number of surrounding press members, "I'm telling you, this whole thing is a show. From now on, that's all we're going to get out of the Prince: a show. And that's why this girl was chosen, no matter who actually did the choosing. Because she can play her part."

Roland looked at Otto, "And you can tell all of this about her just by how she's sitting and watching the polo match?"

"It's called 'experience'." Otto said loftily.

Sean made a doubtful face, albeit with a smile, "'Experience'? You've only ever covered the current King and Queen. Or are you working some other Palace beat on the side?"

Roland gasped in mock shock, "Otto…are you two-timing Their Majesties?"

Again, Otto rolled his eyes wearily. Neophytes. "I meant experience in human nature. It just doesn't make sense that a man who would date the likes of Pamela Renault would involve himself seriously with a girl who hasn't even given us one cheeky smile to catch on film." He raised his hands and shook his head, "Don't you remember that Garden Party two years ago? When Lady Pam took her shoes off and put her feet in one of the fountains?"

Marcus meditated out loud, "Well…I don't know that I want my queen to be dousing her feet in a public monument. I mean, how would that look to the rest of the world?"

Otto explained what he thought was most obvious, "Well, that's precisely my point. He chose a woman who wouldn't do things that would make Genovia look bad to the rest of the world." He sighed, "Which is perfectly reasonable, but…I expected more from His Highness. Sean's right, the Prince _isn't_ a weak sister about things; he's got a mind of his own and has a lot of guts. That's why I would never think he'd give into the pressure to marry someone so… proper. At least, so 'outwardly' proper."

Sean exclaimed dismissively, "Oh, you're just annoyed because you want to cover some crazy loose cannon of a Queen who'll give you embarrassing things to report."

Otto gazed at Sean scornfully before his face betrayed him and a smile crept across his features. When everyone around him laughed, Otto shook his head, "Well, would that be so bad? I mean, I'm not asking for a full blown scandal or anything…like you say, how would that look to the rest of the world? But _some_ hope for the occasional blunder; just to break up the monotony." He sighed wistfully, "I had such high hopes that the Duchess would provide all the slip-ups one man could hope to report. She was the holy grail of things a royal shouldn't say." He shook his head ruefully, "But, ever since she introduced the small business owner of the year as 'The Penis King' instead of 'The Peanut King'… well, things just haven't been the same. Damn that Marcel."

They all burst out laughing at the memory, and for a few moments Clarisse and Rupert could have stripped down to their birthday suits and done the hokey pokey without anyone from The Genovian Times, The Genovian Gazette and countless local papers capturing a picture or making a note, so incapacitated with laughter was the press pen at the memory of Duchess Sara's last real public gaffe.

Sean was the first to begin to regain his composure. He was wiping tears away, but was able to speak, "Oh, God, that was so funny. The look on the man's face…"

Roland was calming down to a few chuckles here and there and was beginning to get his breathing back to normal. "Oh, the salad days before Marcel swooped in and restored order."

Otto was trying to act world-weary but wasn't able to rid himself entirely of the smile that particular memory still had the power to elicit. He looked at Clarisse, "Now, I ask you, can you picture _that_ girl – that lovely and composed girl sitting in the royal box next to dear Sara – _ever,_ in a million years saying such a thing? Does she look like she'll ever give us a sound bite so absurd it winds up on our wall of fame?"

A chorus of 'Probably not', 'I see what you mean', and 'Nope.' went up in response. Otto concluded his symposium by stating, "_That_, gentlemen, is why she was chosen to be our next Queen."

As they all pondered their collective future covering a malapropism-free monarchy, Sean's insistent voice cut through the reverie. "Hey, now. What's this?"

All cameras and pens were immediately cocked and ready for…whatever it was that got Sean's attention. Someone murmured, "What?" Someone else, "Where." Sean explained, "Walking toward the Prince…is that…?"

Otto saw what Sean saw and squinted to see better, "Is that Marilyn Von Elsing?"

Roland said with a nod, "Looks like."

Otto started scribbling furiously, keeping one eye on his note pad and the other on the woman leisurely making her way over to the Prince. "This could be interesting…a sort of compare and contrast kind of thing."

Everyone within earshot chuckled knowingly as Sean mumbled, "I'd give a month's salary to be a fly on the wall for _that_ conversation."

There were nods and mumbles of agreement from the crowd, all of them squinting their eyes hard, hoping somehow that would enable them to read lips.

TBC...


	24. The Polo Match, Timing Is Everything

Aaaaaaaaaannnnndd…I'm back.

A shameless amount of time between updates, I know, but I was afflicted with a fatal combination of busyness and writer's block. Not glamorous, I know, but true.

Anyway, we are _still_ at the polo match (maybe I should have made this a Cricket match…isn't that the game that can go on for ages?) If you like Rupert you will be very happy; it's very Rupert intensive.

For those who have the patience of Job and still care enough to read this story, I give you…chapter 23. (I think).

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"So, is that to be our next Queen?"

The voice that spoke quietly next to Rupert's ear was a familiar one. Before he even looked up from his glass of iced tea, he knew the face he'd be meeting, and as was usual since he and Marilyn had ended their relationship, he was momentarily paralyzed by her presence. He was hit simultaneously by conflicting emotions of joy over seeing his old friend and dread as to what brand of strife their conversation might hold in store.

Opting to hope for the best, he focused on the joy as he stood up from the table at which he'd been enjoying his break from the polo match and greeted her warmly, "Marilyn, my dear. How have you been?"

She curtseyed formally before she reached and gave him a friendly hug. "I've been well; very well, Rupert." She stood back running her hands down his arms taking both of his in hers. Looking at him wistfully, she exclaimed, "Oh, how long has it been? My God, at least…three years?"

He nodded in agreement, "It must be at _least_ that long ago. Since you moved to Lienna to…I want to say consult for that economic think tank?"

"Yes, exactly." She shook her head, marveling, "Can it be possible we haven't seen one another since then? Oh, goodness me, what a sin."

He laughed, "Yes, well, time flies when you're unbearably busy."

She smiled and paused to give him the once-over. He had always been handsome man and time had only added to his eternally debonair impression. Of course, Rupert had always been a confident man – too confident by her standards – and from the cat sated with the canary look he still wore, she wasn't about to feed his ego too much. Keeping things simple, she observed brusquely, "You look good."

He accepted her compliment, meager though it was, and wished he could be as paltry in serving her ego as she had always been with his, but it was no use. He shook his head and admitted, "You look even more beautiful than when you left our fair capital."

Silence followed her appreciative smile as they openly regarded one another. The weight of years gone by made itself felt almost physically for Rupert who _was_ thrown by how much time had passed since the last time he'd seen Marilyn. There was a period in his life when it seemed that not an hour passed that they didn't speak to one another. At this precise moment, as lovely as she looked and as happy as he was to see her, all of those memories seemed a lifetime ago. He was having a hard time believing that they'd actually happened to him.

He finally broke the silence, saying honestly, "I'm so surprised to see you here. What are you doing back in Pyrus?" He motioned for her to take the seat across from him, "All is well with your family, I hope?"

She sat down and assured him, "Oh, yes. Everyone is very well, thank you. They'll be thrilled to know that I ran into you and would no doubt want me to give you their love."

He nodded briefly, "And mine to them, of course."

"Thank you." She paused a moment before continuing, "As to why I'm here in Pyrus…well, frankly, I'm at loose ends at the moment, professionally speaking. I'll be relocating back to this side of the country and am trying to…reestablish myself."

Rupert leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs, "Well, that sounds exciting."

She laughed uncertainly, "I would have said nerve-wracking, but I suppose exciting fits too."

He smiled in surprise, "Wracked nerves? That doesn't sound like you." After getting the attention of a passing waiter and motioning for two more iced teas, he inquired, "What is it that's bringing you back to Pyrus?"

She took a breath and blurted, "I'm engaged." She cocked an eyebrow with humor, "If you can even imagine such a thing."

Rupert raised his eyebrows in surprise, "Oh, Marilyn, that's wonderful! Congratulations!"

She smiled the cynically patient smile of a woman who'd received a thousand congratulations on the same, not all that earth-shattering news, "Thank you."

"So, do I know the lucky man?"

She offered, "Sir Alistair Chamberlain?" She squinted to her right toward the playing field, shielding her eyes from the sun, "Ohh, he's out there somewhere, no doubt fighting to the death for a score."

Rupert nodded, also looking toward the field, "I know of him. Head of a small oil company, yes?"

She pointed out with amused pride, "Small, but up and coming, thank you very much."

Before Rupert could lob his next salvo in an effort to keep this line of conversation alive and breathing, and away from other, more volatile subjects, Marilyn cut him off at the pass. She exhaled briskly and leaned forward, "Speaking of _engagements_…"

Sighing inwardly and accepting the inevitability of this moment, the moment that, on some level, he knew would be coming the instant he'd heard Marilyn's voice in his ear, Rupert, girded himself for the onslaught. Marilyn's post-relationship friendship had always come at a price; the price being a great deal of needling and editorializing on his life choices since they'd ended their relationship; all in friendly jest, of course…or so she always said.

She continued intimately, "…you didn't answer my question. Are we Genovians looking at our next Queen?"

He shook his head with an impish smile, trying to keep things light, "You'll just have to stay tuned to find out."

She narrowed her eyes, "That sounds like a 'Yes'."

He furrowed his eyebrows with a smile, "Does it? Do you think I'd tell you if the answer was a firm 'No'? That wouldn't be very chivalrous of me, now would it?"

She tsk-tsked him, "You're too clever." She continued after a moment, trying a different approach, "She's very charming, your friend." At the tiny, tiny raise of his eyebrows, something she was convinced he hoped she wouldn't notice, she clarified, "I managed to have a few words with her, earlier."

Feeling his blood pressure rise ever so slightly, Rupert drawled casually, "Did you? When was this?"

She chuckled indulgently, "At the cocktail party before the match, of course. When else would I have had a chance to chat with her?"

"I didn't see you there." He cocked an eyebrow cynically, "Fashionably late?"

She took a breath and smiled a Cheshire cat grin, "No, no, I was just…busy. You know, mingling and chatting, and…"

He finished her thought in the same sing-song style of her own comment, "….waiting for me to leave."

Most women would have squirmed slightly at having been caught out so bluntly, but Marilyn's smile grew even more open as she answered, "Yes, in point of fact." She admitted grandly, "Well, I wasn't about to speak to her while you were _there_, Rupert. What fun would that be?"

He nodded slowly, "Mmm-mm."

She needled with a mock pout, "I would have come over and spoken to the two of you together, but you were hovering over her so staunchly I didn't think you'd let her utter a word." When he continued to gaze at her in silence, she chided, "I've never known you to be so protective, Rupert."

He mused nonchalantly, "With good reason, apparently."

She registered his meaning and smiled a small smile, "Ha, touché." She reflected, playing with the edge of the tablecloth, "I'm a little hurt that you would think I'd be unkind to your friend."

He shook his head, "Not unkind. Never unkind, Marilyn. Just…" He considered his word carefully before choosing, "…toying."

She wasn't able to hide her slight surprise at his assessment. She couldn't tell whether he was simply keeping up his end of the back and forth or was actually annoyed. He seemed more tense, his sense of humor in shorter supply than when they typically discussed his latest 'sweetheart'. Either she had been right and this girl was being groomed to be the next Queen and thus Rupert was dealing with a severe amount of stress, or… something else. Marilyn had been teasing him slightly by calling him protective earlier, but perhaps he had feeling enough for the young woman that he was valiantly defending her from any and all slights, real or perceived.

An interesting development, that, if it turned out to be true. She'd known Rupert for over twelve years and didn't think he'd been serious about anyone he'd _ever_ dated after he and she had broken up. Cared about, yes. Enjoyed, yes. Remained friends with, yes. But a sincerely-felt emotional attachment? She didn't honestly think so, and didn't know what to make of the possibility if it were true now; other than to be slightly…put out by the prospect. That was a silly way to feel, of course, being affianced herself, but, nonetheless… The way she'd always seen things, she and Rupert had had a special relationship with and to one another. She rather fancied herself the woman in his life to whom he compared all others; to their detriment, truthfully. She'd always believed that while Rupert and she had not ended up a couple, no one else in either of their lives would ever hold a candle to what they'd shared.

She turned around gracefully and regarded the young woman with whom she'd chatted so politely not forty-five minutes before, suddenly no longer finding smug humor in how different Clarisse and she were, no longer sure that it was the Clarisse who would suffer by comparison.

She faced him and shook her head soberly for a moment as she quietly remarked, "Alas, I don't know her well enough to 'toy' with her. If you keep squiring her around perhaps I'll amass knowledge enough to do just that, but at the moment, I have none."

He chuckled while playing with his iced tea glass, "I shall consider myself 'on notice' then."

She noted his patient, almost stubborn, silence on the subject of what she and his girlfriend might have discussed, knowing he would never ask if she didn't offer to tell him the details. This had always been the way things were with them; they'd raised verbal tug of war to an art form during their relationship. Thus, she remembered well that his temper was such that he'd always been vulnerable to being irritated into giving a blunt response, something she looked to elicit now. She leaned forward slightly and purred, "So, tell me Rupert, is your ladylove older than she looks or merely younger than she behaves?"

Her tactic worked to a tee. Perhaps too well, because in a fit of exasperation, Rupert bulleted past the content of her question and honed directly in on the attitude behind it. He exhaled with strained patience, "For heaven's sake, Marilyn, don't be coy. If you _have_ met her, please; feel free to call her Clarisse."

Momentarily – only momentarily – diverted, she took up his gauntlet and swirled the name around her mouth, leaning back in her chair comfortably, "Ah, yes. Clarisse. _Cla-_risse. Cla-_risse_." She deepened her voice, gazing to the heavens, "_Her Majesty: Clarisse Renaldi. Queen… of Genovia_." She looked directly at him, "Sounds lovely."

If she was irritating him, he didn't let it show as he remarked dryly, "Well, for the sake of expediency, I think just 'Clarisse' will do nicely." He added grandly, "For now, anyway. Ha, ha."

She had to admire his composure, even as she tried to puncture it. She noted, with a hint of magnanimity, "A pretty name. It suits her."

"I agree." He paused for a moment and for reasons he didn't fully understand, heard himself reveal, "It means '_Shining and Gentle; Famous."_

Marilyn gazed blankly at him for a moment before laughing, "Did you just make that up?"

He shook his head briefly, looking into his glass with equal parts self-consciousness and defiance, "I _looked_ it up."

He didn't know what possessed him to tell Marilyn, of all people, that he'd looked up Clarisse's name, and he certainly felt like an idiot now that he'd said it out loud, but…there it was. He wasn't even sure why he'd done it in the first place, but Clarisse had been on his mind quite a bit lately, and he'd remembered her mentioning during one of their conversations, about the horses if he wasn't mistaken, a theory about one's name revealing something about his or her personality. On a whim, and out of idle curiosity he'd looked up the meaning of 'Clarisse'. He had been rather struck by it and it had stayed with him.

Looking now at Marilyn's somewhat abashed face, he took a small amount of satisfaction in having knocked her sideways. He figured 'in for a penny, in for a pound' and shrugged casually as he finished his thought with a smile, "My name means _'Bright fame'_." He waved his glass of tea airily, "Make of that what you will."

Marilyn's idle gaze deepened into incredulity at Rupert's blatant… 'sentimentality'. It seemed the only word that fit, yet it was a word she wouldn't have, in a million years, ever used when referring to the always silver-tongued but always elusive Rupert; at least the Rupert she'd been involved with for three years. Granted, University had been many years ago, and certainly she, herself had mellowed in the intervening dozen or so years, but not to the point of unrecognizability. This was a side of him that he had either kept hidden from her during their relationship, or that she'd not appreciated while they were together. Another explanation, of course, was that the 'shining and gentle' Clarisse fostered and brought forth Rupert's softer side. To be frank, whichever reason it was, it didn't make her particularly happy.

She regarded Rupert – this new Rupert – openly and for a long while before quietly reflecting, "A union blessed by the gods of etymology, eh?"

From deep within his throat Rupert chortled slightly but said nothing, apparently satisfied to simply watch her as she struggled to decide what, of the many things crisscrossing her mind, would be the most intelligent to say. Concluding that the obvious was the way to go, she observed gently, "You must have a fondness for this girl if you are consulting tomes to discover the meaning of her name."

He took a deep breath and he shook his head slowly, "At this point in my life, Marilyn, with the entire country tapping its collective toe waiting to hear when and to whom I'll be marrying, I wouldn't be seen 'squiring around', as you say, anyone for whom I didn't have…intentions. I wouldn't put someone through the grueling public ringer for no reason." He laughed shortly and added with sarcasm, "I save that for someone I care about."

They both laughed for a moment before he remarked, "You remember how it was. I'm sure you still can't look a flashbulb in the eye without shuddering."

"Oh, yes, I remember very well" She glanced over her shoulder in the general direction of the royal box, "Your gir…well, Clarisse seems much more in possession of herself than I ever was at one of these events." She eyed him significantly, disabusing him of the notion that he might have sidestepped her earlier question, "Especially for one so young."

Raising his eyes to hers and seeing no way around it, he finally admitted, "She's nineteen. A very mature nineteen, as you noted."

It took her a moment to process what he'd just said. She leaned back in her chair and murmured, "My God. She's younger than I was when we dated."

Wanting to lighten the mood, he joked, "Yes, the ladies remain ageless, it is only I that gets older."

For reasons she wasn't entirely sure were sound, she suddenly found herself…almost furious with him. It was all a bit much; his protectiveness, their names, this girl's youth. Marilyn was just about at her limit.

The edginess crept back into her voice ever so slightly as she noted, "Well, then she truly puts my performances under the spotlight to shame, because she's laboring under the country's collective assumption that she could be your bride." She paused before concluding smoothly, "I never had to worry about that, did I?"

Rupert paused, feeling suspiciously like he'd just been slapped across the face. Something had shifted, but he hadn't been quick enough off the mark to see it coming. It really _had_ been a long time since he and Marilyn had spoken, because in his youth he would have been six steps ahead of her and able to negotiate any and all possible conversational mine fields. Alas and alack, she had always been better at this game than he.

Making a rusty attempt to buy time, he commented truthfully, "I'm not sure what you mean."

Her tone was playful but there was a hardness to the smile that crept across her face, "You knew you were never going to marry me. Admit it."

She knew no good could come of pursing this line of talk, and her brain was telling her to drop this now before she damaged their friendship for good, but a combination of hurt pride, suddenly unearthed memories, and – she hated to admit it – a tinge of jealousy over the young girl who, it would seem, had won at least a portion of the heart of the man she herself had once loved, all conspired to overtake her better judgment.

He stated shortly, "I never thought about it."

Her smile grew slightly as her eyes narrowed, "I think that's what I just said"

He drew a breath, "No. Marriage; I never thought about marriage one way or another. Not then."

She adopted a coy smile and shook her head, "Ohhhh…I'm not sure I believe that. I mean, it was the reason we stopped seeing one another, wasn't it?"

He eyed her cautiously, "What was?"

She stated flatly, "You'd reached a point when you knew you were never going to propose to me."

'Oof', Rupert thought. Apparently, Marilyn decided just to let her underlying hostility have the floor rather than go to the trouble of masquerading it as friendly teasing. He was suddenly on the defensive, scrambling for something completely conciliatory to say in response to her accusation. He took a deep breath and unwillingly waded into this conversational quagmire, "Marilyn, we broke up because our lives were pulling us in separate directions. You had your career goals, I had duties to start to undertake…things had become untenable." He shrugged fatalistically, "It happens to the best of couples."

As ambivalent as she was about starting all of this, his tepid take on their demise as a couple sent a flare of pique through her, "The way I remember it, you began disentangling yourself from me long before your duties ever came into play. Or, for that matter, before I ever started talking about goals of my own."

Memories of dozens of dozens of late night discussions just like this one started to drift, balloon-like, through the back of his mind as he tried to formulate some sort of answer, "No, not at all. Things just…went as far as they could go, I suppose." His completely genuine bewilderment might have saved him, might have convinced her that it wasn't worth her time to pursue this question at all, except for the fact that he kept talking. He shrugged, "I mean, I knew you never wanted to be Queen, but I wouldn't call that 'deciding' not to propose…"

It was when her mouth dropped open that he cut himself off, mid-thought, and it was roughly a half-second later that he actually focused on what he'd just said and realized he'd now opened this argument up on countless other fronts.

She barked out a sarcastic laugh and narrowed her eyes, "Well, how nice of you to take the trouble of doing my thinking for me."

He shook his head, for many reasons, not the least of which was his confusion that they weren't on the same page as to how their relationship had played itself out, "Marilyn, you resented the invasion of privacy that came with being with me, you made it abundantly clear that you thought the role of women in a monarchy was archaic, all you talked about was having a career in business…I don't really think it was a stretch for me to assume, your feelings for me aside, that you didn't see becoming Queen anywhere in your future."

She deflected testily, "Oh, I see. So…you never asked me because you thought I'd say no?"

He began, "Marilyn, I never…"

She had built up a head of steam and just plowed right over his words, "Or was it because you were afraid I might surprise you and say 'yes'?"

He stared at her and exhaled through clenched teeth before closing his eyes briefly in an attempt to maintain a grip on his temper. As he opened his eyes to Marilyn's stony glare, the question of why, in God's name, all of this mattered now begged to be asked, but he didn't even bother; she would have an answer for him, no doubt, and he would find himself sliding even deeper into the quicksand. As he composed himself, he absently took note that the real reason he'd let their relationship founder lo those many years ago was playing itself out right in front of them; it was draining being with Marilyn. It was too much work. There was never a time when they hadn't been hashing some damn thing out. Some things never change.

He was suddenly and urgently seized with a desire to see Clarisse. Even for a few minutes. No matter how short a time they'd known each other, he simply could not picture having a conversation like this with Clarisse.

He inhaled and enunciated slowly, "Marilyn…if I _had_ been thinking of marriage back then – which I was not – and _had_ asked you to marry me, one: you would have been stunned, because marriage wasn't on your mind either, and two: you never would have said yes." He added after a slight hesitation, "You know that's true."

When he didn't get a heated comment whip-lashed back at him, he knew she was losing her stomach for this conversation. He gave her more than a moment to respond in some way before he tried a little humor, "If it's that you're looking for a country to rule, I know a lot of single heirs to thrones."

Marilyn had a choice: she could be highly insulted and storm off, leaving their friendship in ashes, or she could cut her losses and keep herself from looking even more ridiculous than she already felt. It was a struggle, but she eventually laid down her sword and let a small smile grace her lips. "I'm engaged, remember?"

He murmured with a smile, "Right, right."

He said no more, relieved that she'd seemed to relent, but not wanting to upset the precarious balance of the moment. He watched her as she gazed at the tablecloth with a slight frown creasing her brow and tried to read her expression. For a few moments she looked like she was in the midst of a stern argument with herself when she suddenly lifted her eyes and rested them on his for a moment.

She shook her head, almost wrenching the words out of her mouth, "I'm sorry, Rupert. I…I…oh, I don't know." She sighed deeply and slowly slouched back in her chair looking absently out at the polo field, "Just feeling proprietary about what once was mine, I suppose."

He shrugged amiably, "It's a natural way to feel."

She couldn't resist and remarked sharply, "I notice you didn't seem too conflicted by _my_ engagement."

He fell right into her trap as he hastily tried to explain himself, "Well, for heaven's sake, Marilyn, you just told me about it today…"

She interrupted softly with a raise of her hand, "I'm joking, Rupert."

She smiled at the embarrassed eye-roll he gave her. Her eyes found the playing field again and she reflected on her mood. "My mind has been wallowing in the past lately, even before running into you; ever since I got engaged, really." She looked at him with melancholy wonder on her face, "I cannot believe how much time has passed. And so quickly! So much has changed_. I've_ changed so much."

He gave a nod and chuckle of agreement, knowing exactly what how she felt, as she continued wistfully, "It's amazing, when you're young and dream about exactly how you want your life to be…how differently you make your choices when it actually – finally – comes time to make them." She smiled sadly at him, "Maybe, it's just my timing that's off. I'm forever either pulling the trigger too soon or shooting myself in the foot by waiting too long."

She seemed to be saying something about the two of them, or perhaps not, he wasn't sure; he was too preoccupied with what she'd just said about choices and timing; it cut right to the heart of the truth of his own life, something he might never have even thought about had he not run into her today. She was right, absolutely right, about how differently we make choices depending on when we make them. A scary thing to contemplate.

If anyone had asked if he'd ever been in love, he would have said, 'Yes…once'. With Marilyn. And he would have meant it. With no one else had he shared the depth of feeling he did when they were together. He'd willingly spent every spare moment he had with her; they'd laughed heartily, they'd talked intimately, they'd fought fiercely and they'd made love passionately. They were a dynamic and attention-grabbing couple; sociable and charming. They were the stars of their very dazzling circle and he had thought no one in the world was living a more desirable life than he. He was a man in love, surely.

Immersing himself in the memories of that very electric time in his life, as he had today, his present life stood out in even starker relief. His eyes drifted inexorably toward Clarisse…and try as he might, he could not picture duplicating with Clarisse even one moment of his relationship with Marilyn. For the life of him he didn't think Clarisse fiery enough to hold up her end of such an intense relationship. She didn't have a drop of the maverick in her, leading her, for instance, to show up to a formal event in a knee-length cocktail dress, just to make the point that grown women shouldn't be told how to dress. Clarisse didn't seem passionate enough to stay angry at him for days at a time, holding out until he apologized. Nor did he think she could ever be so deeply devoted to him that she would actually slap him across the face for flirting with another girl.

'Fiery'. 'Intense'. 'Maverick'. 'Passionate'. 'Devoted'.

These were always the words he would use when describing Marilyn or his relationship with her. To his mind, they'd fairly screamed 'exciting' and 'interesting'. Yet, in light of his friendship with Clarisse – the decidedly not histrionic Clarisse – words like 'moody', 'tumultuous', 'selfish', 'manipulative' and 'controlling' seemed more…accurate.

In all fairness, and if he was brutally honest with himself, it wasn't just Marilyn whose behavior had been out of control; at times, he'd had rage enough to blow the roof off the place, and he'd indulged in more than his fair share of emotional gamesmanship – not calling when he said he would, just because he knew it would upset her; flirting with other girls precisely to garner the 'passionate' (some would say 'violent') response he'd gotten in the limo on that fateful evening when she'd hit him.

Looking back, he'd thought all the friction – the fighting, the slamming of doors, the angry sex – was incredibly exciting and stimulating; a sign of two spirited and vigorous minds and bodies deeply connecting. Why, if there was no friction, no antagonism, then what did you have? A flatline, lifelessness, inertia – two people who cancelled out one another's spirit. In fact, he'd craved the energizing conflict so much that he'd played out this particular relationship pattern over and over in his life. Every woman who'd occupied a significant place at his side was merely a faded carbon copy of Marilyn.

Except for Clarisse. A young woman who, he must admit, if he'd met while at University he wouldn't have given a second glance. If he had slowed down long enough even to notice her docile, if lovely, face he would never have sat still for the quiet conversation she engendered. And if _that_ hadn't sent him on his way, Clarisse's uncanny ability to reveal and understand him so well would have had him running for the hills in search of another hellcat to add to his dating history.

He looked at Marilyn as she seemed to be grappling with the same conflict as he; mulling her past versus her present, grappling with time lost and possibly wasted. Yet, he felt none of the sorrow that clearly adorned Marilyn's face at the conclusions he'd reached. All he could feel was gratitude; gratefulness to the Gods of timing for waiting to introduce him to Clarisse until a time when he could, and would, appreciate the gift of harmony and understanding. Somehow he'd been arranged into what was already, after only weeks, the healthiest relationship he'd ever had.

Timing was on his side again as Marilyn picked that precise moment to come out of her reverie and provide him the perfect avenue out of this conversation. She took a breath and remarked philosophically, "Oh, to be young and oblivious to the compromises of adulthood, eh?"

He laughed dutifully, "Amen to that." He sighed with a smile, "Oh, Marilyn. Stop worrying so much. You know you've always had the world by the…throat."

She laughed, "That's certainly true." She exhaled, knowing an ending when she heard one, even when it was one she didn't want to face. She got out of her chair and said, "Well, I won't keep you. I know you're very busy at these kinds of things."

He chuckled, almost sadly, as he stood up and clasped her hands, "It was good to see you, Marilyn." He paused before adding, with a sincerity he hoped she heard, "I wish you nothing but happiness."

To him, she looked like she was going to cry, but she smiled gamely and gave him a hug, "I wish you the same, love." She pulled back to look at him, "Can I still come to see you when we're both boring married people?"

He grinned, "We can swap 'ball and chain' stories."

She laughed and gave him another quick goodbye hug before walking away, out of the tent and toward the sidelines of the playing field. He watched her go, not without wallowing for a moment in the pang of bitter-sweetness in heart, before looking toward his assistant James.

He suddenly wanted to arrange a quick, but soul-affirming get together with a certain 'ladylove'.

TBC

By the way, in an effort to jump start my writer's block, I did actually look up the names 'Clarisse' and 'Rupert'; z e l o . c o m gave me the meanings I used in the story. Interesting, eh? What's even stranger is that I looked up the name 'Marilyn' – a name I'd chosen before I ever thought of looking up anyone's name – and it came up 'the sea of bitterness' (Marilyn being a derivative of 'Mary') Eeeeerie. I wished I could have used it in the story, but couldn't find a credible way to get it in.

Not for nothing, but I looked up my own name, Kathleen. It means 'pure, virginal'. After I stopped laughing, I decided to mention it here. (Melchy, if you didn't already know that, you will find that interesting, no doubt.)


	25. The Polo Match, A Closed Chapter

Hellooooo…it's me, with another timely update.

This represents the merciful end of the world's longest polo match. Those of you who are jones-ing for some Clarisse will be pleased.

As always, thanks for your patience and I hope you enjoy the read. Let me know what you think!

K

_Hi, again - it's just me, with a corrected chapter in hand, the glaring (to everyone but me) and unfortunate barren/baron typo corrected. Thanks for the heads up everyone. I'm off to the optometrist. K_

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"Hey, hey, the Prince is on the move." Sean exclaimed, almost dropping his camera in his attempt to aim it at the suddenly mobile Rupert.

All conversation ceased as everyone in the crowded press area noticed what Sean had. Pens and Cameras that had been given a rest when Marilyn Von Elsing finally left the Prince's table were immediately poised to take action as they all watched Rupert walk over and speak quietly to his trusted assistant, James.

Marcus asked, "What's that about? Anything, you think?"

Roland guessed, looking at his watch, "Maybe he's getting ready to leave?"

Sean shook his head, "No way. He wouldn't leave a charity event in the middle."

They all eyed Rupert intently as he finished speaking with James and calmly returned to his table to finish his iced tea. James made his usual fluid exit and negotiated his way through the crowd in search of whatever, or whoever, the Prince wanted.

Otto said quietly, but with certainty, "Passing a message."

Everyone shifted their focus to the Prince's date to see if Otto's experience would pay off. Sure enough, in a few moments, Marcel unobtrusively entered the back of the royal box and spoke in the young Clarisse's ear. She nodded slightly and gracefully got out of her seat with a brief word to Sara.

Otto nodded, "What did I tell you? He sent for her. He wants to see her."

Marcus said, "Wonder why?"

Sean joked, "Maybe they just can't stand to be away from one another."

Roland offered, "Maybe he's on his way to tell her he's going to run away with Marilyn."

Otto snorted, "I highly doubt that. It's probably to discuss something like which side of the limo they should each ride on as they make their grand exit later so their respective 'better sides' get photographed."

Roland smiled and shook his head with a sniff, "Otto, you old romantic. Anybody got a tissue?"

They all tensed as the Prince stood up and straightened himself out, casually meandering away from the table in the direction of the VIP viewing area. There was a collective sigh of frustration as, rather than continuing on his journey, he was intercepted by Etienne. Personable though they were, Rupert and Etienne were the two most photographed men in the country and photos of them together were not exactly hard to come by, so once again all cameras and pens were lowered to wait for a more choice photo op; dare they hope for something along the lines of the Crown Prince and Miss Mignionette during a stolen moment?

The Princes, meanwhile, were having a slight laugh at the up-again-down-again shenanigans of the reporters and their equipment. The poor bastards had no idea how absurd they sometimes looked from a distance; like they were performing some amateurish Busby Berkley musical number. Etienne shook his head, eyeing the gaggle from the corner of his eye, "Seems we've inadvertently trumped our friends in the press."

Rupert smirked, "I know. There's no novelty in getting a picture of the two of us anymore." He shrugged with mock regret, "The thrill is gone, it seems. Ah, well."

Etienne laughed, "You seem in a much better mood than you were this morning."

Confusion and, possibly offense, crossed Rupert's face as he looked at Etienne, "What do you mean? I was fine this morning."

Etienne wasn't successful in stifling his laugh, "Oh! Oh, I see. So when you threatened to boycott the parliament dinner when you heard that Lord Palimore switched from your team to mine…at a charity polo match…you weren't, perhaps, overreacting?"

Rupert eyed Etienne for a moment and decided, yes, he was being made fun of. He took a deep breath and leveled his most withering stare at this brother, "Excuse me, but I seem to remember you being a bit on edge the night you introduced Sara to the press. Didn't you refer to a waiter as a 'jackass' because he didn't give you two olives in your martini rather than the usual one? Two olives, if I'm not mistaken, that you neglected to ask for?"

Etienne looked slightly insulted, "Oh, well now, really Rupert, Sara's and my first public outing was an eight-hundred-person correspondence dinner, not a carefree afternoon of charity polo."

Rupert said pointedly, "True, but – and you know how loathe I am to throw the whole issue of 'birth-order' in your face – the spotlight is more intense on Clarisse than it was on Sara, because Clarisse is with me."

Etienne groaned, "Oh, you and the whole 'Genovia likes me best' business."

They both laughed for a moment before noticing the slightly impatient rustling of the press pen making it look like wind blowing through a wheat field. Rupert gestured slightly, "They're getting antsy."

"Mmm. No doubt, they're chomping at the bit to know if you're off to chat up any other ex-girlfriends."

Rupert chuckled and nodded slowly, "You saw that did you?"

With a raise of his eyebrows, Etienne breathed, "Ohhhhh, yes. Everyone saw that. I was sent to rescue you, in fact. Sara practically strained herself trying to get my attention without Clarisse noticing." He looked wearily behind him toward the royal box, "I wasn't very observant…I think I might be in for an earful tonight."

Rupert breathed deeply, "Well, I appreciate your concerted efforts, but I was not in need of rescue." At the cynical look on Etienne's face, he amended, "Not this time."

Etienne knew, if not understood, the allure that Marilyn held over Rupert, an allure that continued long past their breakup. He also knew well that it always took some time for Rupert to get the woman out of his system, even after the most fleeting of encounters with her. He tried to read Rupert's expression, seeking the truth behind his statement. "Really? No temptation to…well, revisit the past?"

Rupert shook his head slowly, "Not at all. I wished her genuine congratulations on her engagement, in fact."

"Ah, yes, to the oil baron; there was much talk of that around the grounds while the two of you chatted." Etienne paused and looked for the telltale signs that Rupert was slipping into a Marilyn-related brooding funk, but found none. He was impressed, and said with a small laugh, "So, the spell has been broken, then?"

Rupert chafed slightly under Etienne's take on things and sighed, "I wouldn't say I was ever under a 'spell', but, yes, I think I have…moved beyond Marilyn."

"Well, that's a relief. She was never good for you, Rupert." Showing remarkable insight as far as Rupert was concerned, Etienne concluded idly, "Especially these days."

Rupert simply nodded, wondering why his life seemed so much less complicated when someone else pondered it.

Etienne continued briskly, "Speaking of things good for you, Madeleine and I have been comparing notes all day and you'll be happy to know that everyone seems to find Clarisse utterly charming. In fact, I don't think I've ever heard the word 'charming' used quite so often as I have today. She's doing wonders for your image."

Rupert smiled with amused smugness, "I'm not in the least surprised." He squinted over Etienne's shoulder in the general direction of the royal box, "I was just on my way to grab a few moments with her, in fact."

"Ahh, well, don't let me keep you." Etienne cleared the way for Rupert, giving him a pat on the shoulder as he passed by, "Tell her to keep up the charming work."

With a nod and smile, Rupert made his way through the crowd, nodding amiably to those who greeted him but not stopping to chat. He noticed as he reached the viewing area that Clarisse was not in the box, thanks, of course, to the always reliable assembly-line efficiency of James and Marcel. Proficient souls that they were, both James and Marcel in fact had crossed paths with him while en route and managed to give him vital information without slowing him down one step. James confirmed Clarisse was waiting in the security office as per his request, and the very difficult to please Marcel described the event as going better than he could have hoped.

With those words ringing in his ears, he knocked quietly on the door to the small security office as he peeked inside and found Clarisse peering raptly at a bank of miniature TVs showing different areas of the grounds. He smiled and stage whispered, "Anybody doing something they shouldn't?"

She looked around quickly and smiled at Rupert before turning her attention back to the TVs, "Have you seen this? I think they must have every square inch of the grounds on camera."

He walked over and stood behind her, gazing critically at the monitors, "Oh, this is nothing. Wait until you see the surveillance at the palace. It's much more impressive. And extensive"

She looked questioningly over her shoulder at him, and he nodded in confirmation, "Yes, it's true, I'm afraid. Security is going to be a significant part of your life in the years to come." He shrugged, almost guiltily, "Just another of the many highlights of a life lived with me."

He regarded her carefully as she looked back at the cameras with a deep breath and shook her head slightly, as if to clear it of far too ominous and complicated thoughts for this particular afternoon. He grinned as she turned to face him, re-composed into the expectant yet calm Clarisse she always was.

She smiled back at him, "You were doing very well out there today. I was cheering you on."

He shook his head, "That's a very generous assessment of my playing abilities…and I thank you for lying right to my face."

They shared a laugh and a brief, though comfortable silence. He took her hands in his and took a step back to the two chairs that had been vacated by the security men chased away by his request for the room. They sat down and he took a breath, his hands still holding hers, and asked in a tone more serious than she usually heard from him, "So…how are you doing?"

She read his face and decided he wanted an honest answer, so made a real effort to give him one. She considered her words and attempted to explain what it felt like being the new guppy in the fishbowl, "Well, it hasn't been entirely comfortable, but it has been manageable. Talking to people one on one is fine. I mean, I know that they're sizing me up, but I'm somewhat used to people I've never met knowing who I am. It happened quite a bit at school, occupying visible posts in school government and whatnot. Obviously, this is much more intense, not to mention more important, but the principle remains the same."

He nodded his understanding, suspecting there was a 'but..' forthcoming. She was looking down at her hands, eyebrows furrowed, seemingly trying to collect her thoughts, or perhaps deciding if she should admit what else she was thinking. He waited patiently until, with a slight shake of her head, she confessed, "It's constantly being watched from a distance that's been the hardest thing to handle. Even when I'm not doing anything of note, I know someone, somewhere is just…looking at me. I keep waiting for people to get bored and look away."

Before he could tell her what she already knew, she shook her head quickly, "I know they won't. I know it's just something I'll have to get used to, but it's…definitely a strange feeling." She looked up at him and marveled, "It's actually exhausting to be watched all the time!"

He chuckled quietly and nodded, but said nothing. She smiled a small smile, "I feel a little guilty complaining because I used to do it myself. Every time I'd see the royal family on television, I'd stop and watch; I'd read everything written about all of you; I'd crane my head if a motorcade or a limo with the Genovian flag went down the street."

She hesitated long enough to note his expression and it made her smile even more. He was looking at her with a small grin that seemed both sympathetic and amused. She quietly gave an embarrassed laugh, "This seems the perfect moment to apologize for whatever moments of privacy I unthinkingly stole from you when I was a mere subject."

She looked so sheepish that he felt a little guilty at how heartily he laughed when she apologized. He said, "Well, Clarisse, on behalf of the public figures of the world, let me say Thank You. I accept your most sincere apology."

She blushed at his obvious teasing and looked away in embarrassment, but her smile never left her face. He gave her hands a small squeeze of reassurance and when she rested her eyes on his once more, he exhaled, "You know, it's the rare bit of wisdom received when one is a child that still rings true in adulthood, but my father told us all something at a very early age that, every time I think of it, still makes sense. He said that if we expect the citizens of this country to live under the laws we make simply because we are members of this family, then we have to accept the reasonableness of the country keeping a vigilant eye on us as we make those laws."

She said nothing, her face pensive. Feeling that anything less than total candor would be pointless, Rupert remarked quietly, "You may never fully get used to eyes constantly upon you. After all, it's not normal for a human being to live without privacy, even if one is born into a public life." He shrugged gently, "But, lurid interest aside, there is a fairness to it."

She would have like to hear him tell her not to worry and that she would absolutely get used to it, but she already knew that wasn't true. When she was a private citizen, she very much believed as King Henri did…that for living the privileged life of a royal, there was the tradeoff of living a viewable life. It was a fair tradeoff, a difficult one, yes, but a fair one – a necessary one, even. His jokes about the press being a bunch of hogs aside, she had never heard Rupert complain about this particular part of his life. He managed it, he negotiated around it, he laughed at it even, but he seemed to accept it as unchangeable a part of his existence as his left-handedness. She would need to remember that whenever she felt the urge to complain about the intrusion of eyes upon her. After all, she already had nineteen years of something that Rupert never had and never would have: anonymity.

"What is it?" Rupert's face was expectant if wary, as if he was waiting to hear that she'd changed her mind about all of this and wanted to go back to gawking at him from afar.

She cocked her head to one side, "I was thinking that I was glad you asked for a visit."

He looked at her with a mixture of amusement and skepticism, "Is that really what you were thinking?"

She grinned, "More or less."

He gave her one of his most winning smiles as he leaned back comfortably in his chair, "Yes, now that you mention it, this visit was one of my better ideas."

He was in perfect agreement with Marcel; things _were_ going better than could have been hoped. Clarisse seemed to have thus far survived her first public outing on his arm – sanity in tact. He would get details later, but people had unquestionably responded positively to her, and at this moment he was more comfortable than ever with the decision he'd made to have her by his side. Yes, today was a good day…

…right up to the moment Clarisse nonchalantly remarked, "I think I met a former girlfriend of yours today."

This particular moment was perfect for a sight gag, something along the lines of him falling out of his chair at the sudden lightening strike in the midst of his perfect day, but as it was, he merely felt the smile dissolve from his face. He'd almost forgotten about Marilyn and Clarisse having met. God only knew what Clarisse's reaction to Marilyn's questions or attitude, or in fact, very existence might be. He had to stop himself from groaning out loud and girded himself for what he was sure was going to be a spiky conversation.

He adopted his patented defense in such situations, "Oh?"

She nodded calmly, "Yes. Marilyn Von…Elsing?"

He nodded as if in sudden recognition, "Ah, yes, yes. Yes. Marilyn. Yes."

He regarded Clarisse's expression – one of patient expectation – and detected no hint of simmering suspicion or trap-laying. Granted, Clarisse had a very good poker face, but he thought some honesty might not necessarily be a terrible idea.

He brushed the leg of his pants clean of imaginary lint as he admitted casually, "Yes, Marilyn and I dated a number of years ago."

Clarisse smiled knowingly, "Hmmm, I thought so."

He raised his eyebrows at that observation, but reigned them back in quickly. "Did you? Why is that?"

She considered with a small shrug, "She just seemed…proprietary, I suppose; like she was trying to decide whether it was appropriate that I was with you. She wasn't so much listening to me as watching me, if you know what I mean."

He knew exactly what she meant. Marilyn had done the very same thing to him many times, she'd done it to friends, to people she'd worked with and, not surprisingly, to every girlfriend he'd had after their relationship ended. She would watch and wait for anything – a weakness, an insecurity – anything she could use as leverage to take the upper hand in a conversation.

He swallowed, "I do hope she wasn't rude."

Clarisse shook her head, "No, she wasn't rude at all. Just a bit.. _keen_ in her scrutiny." She added, "I had noticed her earlier. She kept looking over at us but didn't come over to introduce herself until after you'd left." She smiled a small smile, "That seemed telling."

He nodded slowly trying to find something to say to sum up his relationship with Marilyn, but couldn't decide whether to go with soul-bearing honesty or world weary fatalism. He settled for something in between as he sighed, "Well, we were one another's first serious relationship…so…well, you know…" He trailed off lamely, not sure if he even knew what he was trying to say.

Clarisse philosophically finished his thought for him, "Yes, well, 'firsts' tend to have a lot of staying power."

He smiled cautiously, "Exactly. Exactly."

She continued graciously, "You'll probably always have a special place in her heart."

He nodded in serene agreement at how simple Clarisse made it all sound, immeasurably relieved at Clarisse's accommodating attitude over what could have been a touchy subject. To not have an uncomfortable and strained discussion over what he and Marilyn had talked about, or why he'd sat so long with her, or why he'd given her a hug as they said good bye was truly a rare blessing in his love life. He could definitely get used to Clarisse's calm nature.

Clarisse smiled as she mused, "It's nice that the two of you have remained a friends."

He tensed; wait, was that some sort of shot over his bow? A wheedle? An attempt to corner him? He narrowed his eyes and tried to see beyond the kindness in Clarisse's face and figure out what she was _really_ trying to say.

Clarisse's smile faltered at the blank look on Rupert's face and she laughed uncertainly, "Or is it not?

He registered her question, both in her voice and on her face and realized he must have been staring. Somewhat jolted he said, "Yes! Yes, it is. Very nice. She has always been a good friend."

He waited for another salvo – something along the lines of 'Oh? How _good_ a friend?' – but all he received from Clarisse was a smile that seemed to say, 'How genuinely nice.' He could feel the muscles in his neck loosen as he realized Clarisse wasn't going to interrogate him on the subject. As far as Clarisse seemed to be concerned Rupert was Marilyn's first love and thus, the woman could be forgiven for coming on a bit strong when meeting a new lady in his life. All perfectly natural and understandable. Touching, even, when one thought about it.

Of course, by the same token, no one would blame Clarisse for being a tad suspicious – or even jealous – over his having spent a significant amount of time with an old flame. Not that she _was_ threatened, apparently, but he would sympathize if she were. But, again, she wasn't. She most decidedly was not.

His relief at being let off the hook so easily slowly began to give way to a bit of … hurt pride, actually. He certainly didn't want Clarisse to dissolve into overwrought dramatics, of course, but he didn't even get a pout out of her.

Something of what he was thinking must have showed because Clarisse peered into his face with a smile, "What is it?"

He looked up startled, "Hmm?"

"You look a little…puzzled."

As if that were the furthest thing from the truth, he shook his head, "Not at all." He knew he should leave it at that, but his ego couldn't help itself. He tried to maintain a casual tone as he continued, "I was just wondering…well…" He looked at her fully and shrugged, "Aren't you at all curious about what she and I discussed?"

Clarisse was, in fact, _dying_ to know what Rupert and Marilyn had been talking about for so long. She'd pretended not to, but she definitely noticed how long and how intensely the two of them had talked. She wasn't sure that she had any right to feel one way or the other about it, but it didn't sit entirely well with her. She wasn't jealous, per se, but she did feel less significant to him than she had when they were alone in the limousine. It was silly – the man of course had a romantic past – but having no comparable past of her own, she felt very young.

Therein lie the reason she wouldn't ask about his sit down with Marilyn. No matter how she worded the question to herself, it sounded immature; like some adolescent drama worried over in the hallway between classes at school. She'd spent the day talking with the most powerful people in Genovia…she wasn't _about_ to ask the 31 year old man in her life if his former girlfriend said anything mean about her.

She smiled her most diplomatic smile, "I don't want to pry. And it's really none of my business."

He nodded reasonably at her answer, but she thought she detected a slightly deflated look cross his face. She decided that it would do no harm to admit to him a _small_ amount of weakness on the subject. She narrowed her eyes slightly and peered at him a little fearfully, "Besides, I'm not really sure I want to know."

His eyebrows raised slightly as he smiled, "Why not?"

She sighed, "Well, being a fly on the wall sounds like a wonderful thing, as long as everything one hears is positive." She shrugged and explained, "Why hear a bad review I don't need to when there will be critiques in the papers and on the high society grapevine I can't avoid?"

He chuckled at her old fashioned horse-sense. "You're a wise girl, Clarisse. But, I don't think you need to worry on any account. You've carried yourself remarkably well…even Marilyn thought so."

Immature though it may be, her curiosity was piqued, "Really?"

He nodded, "Yes. She said as much."

She tried to keep the feeling of satisfaction – or God forbid, smugness – off of her face as she mulled over that bit of information.

He waited – and waited – but she remained silent. Finally, he gave up with a smile, "You're just not going to ask any details about my conversation with Marilyn, are you?"

She raised her eyebrows, "Do you want me to?"

He shrugged and sighed dramatically, "No, not if you don't feel inclined. Don't worry about me. My ego can withstand your complete lack of concern at my spending a significant amount of time with an old girlfriend."

She laughed and acknowledged, "Well, I don't think it would take too much effort to work up a jealous froth if I thought about it."

He smiled appreciatively, "That's a lovely offer, but on second thought, I think I prefer your habit of keeping the fuss to a minimum."

She opened her mouth to say something and closed it again, considering. Under any other circumstances she would never let someone know she was feeling something so unattractive or petty as envy, but…these weren't typical circumstances. She tried to hide her self-consciousness with a casual shrug, "Well, as long as you're inviting me to do so, I suppose I can admit to a moment of insecurity over the fact that she and I are really nothing alike."

A look of surprise rippled across his face as he ventured slowly, "Well, that's definitely true, but that shouldn't worry you."

She raised her eyebrows skeptically, "Oh, no?"

"Why would it?"

She laughed ironically, "Well, if her attachment to you is any indication, then the two of you must have meant a great deal to one another at one time, yes?"

He nodded his assent but said nothing. She'd hoped he be able to fill in the rest for himself and not make her say it out loud, but he simply waited. She exhaled, "Then you can understand why it's a little unsettling for me, knowing I'm nothing like a woman you cared so much for."

He inhaled through his nose before finally nodding slowly, "I see." He gazed at her, and shook his head slowly, "It doesn't mean anything."

A smirk of doubt crossed her face, "Really."

He reconsidered, remembering his own conversation with himself while talking to Marilyn, "Well, maybe if I'd met you when I was twenty-one, it would mean something…" He cocked his head to one side and smiled, "…but not now."

A small bit of hope entered her voice, "No?"

He shook his head, "No. That was a long time ago. Now, Marilyn is a dear friend who received my sincere congratulations on her engagement."

Clarisse couldn't hide her surprise, Engagement? And here, I thought she might still have designs on you." She felt a little embarrassed at having made such a fuss when the woman was engaged. She shrugged sheepishly, "She didn't tell me she was engaged." Suddenly, she had an epiphany and she looked Rupert straight in the face, "She _wanted_ me to think she had designs on you."

He chortled, "That wouldn't surprise me."

Clarisse marveled, "Goodness, you really must have meant a lot to her…" She narrowed her eyes and teased, "Are you planning on rattling her fiancé's cage sometime this afternoon?"

He laughed, "I don't think so. Now, if I were twenty-one, perhaps…" He regarded her for a moment before summing up quietly , "But, I've changed a lot since then."

She nodded, "Well, that's how it should be. Imagine, living a decade and having nothing of what you'd lived through change you in some way? " She shook her head, "I certainly hope that, in ten years time, I I'm not the same person that I am now. Good lord." She smiled easily at him.

He couldn't help smile back at her before saying softly, "Well…just don't change too much."

She blushed slightly and once again felt as she had in the limo.

Rupert leaned forward, "Well, we only have another 90 minutes or so of this frivolity. If you're not too drained, would you consider having dinner with me at the palace?"

"Of course. That sounds lovely."

"Good. Good." He sighed and looked at his watch, "Well, we should get back before too many people notice that the two of us haven't been spotted in a while. Lord knows what they'll say we've been doing."

She stood up and looked around, "Yes, how ironic that seemingly the only place on the grounds not under surveillance is the security room."

He looked around as well, "Hmmm. A useful piece of information." He turned and cocked an eyebrow, "I'll have to file that away for future reference."

She giggled, "Is it like that at the palace?"

He smoothed down his shirt out and said gravely, "I don't know, but I'll get James on that out right away."

TBC...


	26. Sanctity

Well, a mere month since my last update…(sigh). Sorry.

Anyway, back to the action…you'll notice that I've given this story a swift kick in the pacing; we are now five weeks after the polo match. I'm a little stumped as to how to summarize this chapter, so I'll just get out of the way and let you read it.

Have fun!

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26

"I think my favorite description of you thus far has to be from The Times." Rupert's voice deepened and he intoned, "'…the sylph-like creature on the arm of the robust King to be.'"

Clarisse rolled her eyes with a smile, "Yes, that was quite vivid. Although, that's really a description of the both of us."

"Well, you'll have to get used to that. We are no longer two individuals, my dear. We are now RupertandClarisse, a socio-political corporation. Not for profit, of course."

She chuckled, "How romantic."

He looked over at her, "Well, the Genovian press is accustomed to a steady diet of arranged-from-birth marriages; too much romance right off the bat might cause their heads to explode. We have to take things slowly." He took a breath and announced grandly, "So, do try to keep the adoration in your eyes when you look at me to a minimum…at least in front of the press."

She shook her head with a laugh. "That's good advice for you as well. I mean, we wouldn't want the press thinking the love swimming in your eyes as is for me when we both know you only have eyes for you."

He gasped, "Ah! You know me too well already."

They continued their after dinner walk around the grounds of the palace, content to enjoy the peace of the sunset after yet another long day. It had been just over five weeks since their maiden voyage as a couple and, as expected, the country was positively thrilled to hear that the Prince was involved in what was implied to be a serious relationship. One that could possibly lead to marriage and, for the first time in generations, one that wasn't, strictly speaking, 'arranged'. Even Marcel, with his finger on the pulse of the newspaper reading and television viewing Genovian public, was astounded by how ready the country seemed to be for Rupert to get married; how ready they were to hear Clarisse was 'the one'. Without anyone noticing, Genovia had morphed into a stereotypical long-suffering mother, desperately awaiting its favorite son to find a nice girl and settle down. And, of course, perhaps give them some grandchildren.

Rupert had spent the better part of his time keeping a close eye on Clarisse as she valiantly tried to handle the strain of becoming an overnight public figure. She'd adopted a bunker mentality, keeping her head down and not outwardly registering any of the chaos that swirled around her, and had done an enviable job of maintaining a supremely unruffled demeanor as far as Rupert was concerned. For his own part, he'd immediately stepped into the role of protector between her and the onslaught. She'd fared very well in the papers in terms of first impressions, but he knew – and he knew _she_ knew – that once the initial furor died down, the more difficult commentary would begin to make it's way into the papers. Parliament's reaction to her, the foreign press's impression of her, questions regarding her temperament and bearing as it pertained to one day being Queen – all of that was waiting for them but Rupert intended to make sure she dealt with none of it before she absolutely had to.

Consequently, and because they couldn't yet comfortably venture out on a public 'date', he and Clarisse had spent a great deal of time together at the palace; meeting with Marcel, preparing for the upcoming parliamentary dinner, having small get-togethers with some of his closer friends and colleagues. He, for one, preferred things that way so he could keep watch on her, but was pleasantly surprised to find that Clarisse also seemed to want to be with him during this initial trial by fire stage. He half expected her either to be _able_ to or _prefer_ to deal with all of this alone. He found it both gratifying and touching that someone so obviously self sufficient as Clarisse actually needed him.

Or perhaps, Rupert chuckled to himself, her father was right that she was harboring a bit of a crush on him and just wanted to be around him. He could live with that explanation, too.

His conversation with Arthur occurred to Rupert more than once in the last few weeks; particularly the warnings Arthur drove home – under penalty of death do not forget that Clarisse was still young and somewhat enigmatic. While Rupert agreed with Arthur in his assessment of Clarisse's older than her years demeanor and formidable poker face, he had found that just by paying close enough attention, he'd developed some instincts of his own about her. He'd discovered, for instance, that when she was tired, her posture took on an exaggerated, almost military-like rigidity; she would uncross and re-cross her ankles when she got nervous; and if she was annoyed her voice would deepen slightly – being her future husband, he found that a particularly crucial bit of information.

He looked sidelong at his future better-half as she walked sedately beside him, gazing serenely at the sunset over the stables. There were other aspects of Clarisse that he'd started to become aware of that Arthur would undoubtedly prefer Rupert not notice. Like how wonderful she smelled. Or how nicely she filled out a sweater. Or, criminally unnoticed until earlier today, just how spectacular Clarisse's legs were. He didn't know where his head had been lately, but today was the first time he'd noticed that Clarisse had the longest pair of legs he could remember seeing in a very long time. In fact, as they began their stroll this evening, he found himself mesmerized by the sight of her long thigh as it strained against her decidedly unassuming skirt while walking down the steps to the pathway. He'd been so caught up in the promising sight he almost forgot to follow her.

That was an epiphany, really. Granted, not a terribly enlightened one, but profound, nonetheless. If there had been one worry he'd harbored about a union with Clarisse it was that he hadn't felt an instantaneous physical attraction to her. When he'd first met Clarisse he certainly thought her pretty, but in a detached way, as if looking at her from a distance. His mind relegated her to a sort of limbo somewhere between grown woman and adolescent, the latter impression short-circuiting any temptation he might have for her. However, if the thoughts popping into his mind unbidden over the past few weeks were any indication, he was evidently short-circuited no more.

He'd never had a physical attraction to a woman 'sneak up' on him as opposed to just smacking him right across the face, so wasn't exactly sure what had changed to enable him to see Clarisse in a more…well, debauched light. Perhaps it was that they'd been working side by side so intensely for a good deal of time now, or with the country so readily accepting them as a couple, it was easier to behave as one…he didn't know. Whatever the reason, at some point his mind and heart – and body – no longer regarded Clarisse as his 'choice of bride' so much as the 'woman in his life', and while he would never have needed to be dragged kicking and screaming to his marital bed, he was fast approaching a point of impatience to get there.

It was that _gradual_ nature of their relationship from arranged propinquity to spontaneous feeling that made him realize that he had neglected to hit some very important milestones with Clarisse; that he hadn't given her what she would have – and should have – gotten had their relationship begun more traditionally.

While he was sure his master plan for this evening was appropriate and completely in keeping with his _own_ feelings, Clarisse's penchant for keeping her emotions in check made it difficult for him to know exactly how deeply she regarded him. He just wasn't sure how Clarisse would react. Honestly, was it too late? Was it even necessary? Would this just be unneeded pressure on top of pressure? Would he embarrass her? Would it make things uncomfortable between them; disturb the rhythm of their relationship? He had no answers, but always came back to the same conclusion; he couldn't…_not_ do it. He wanted to do it; he wanted to give her this and felt genuinely badly that he hadn't done it already.

Her voice cut through his internal monologue, bringing him back to the here and now as she observed, "This would be the perfect spot for a rose garden." She gestured lightly with her hand to the expanse of grounds to her right.

He followed her eyes, squinting blankly, "Would it?"

She nodded, "Yes, it would. It has perfect light for roses."

He nodded casually, "Well, I'll have to take your word for that. I admit, I don't know much about gardens."

She eyed the less than ornamental grounds critically, "Hmm. It doesn't look like _any_ of the powers that be around here give much thought to gardens."

He chuckled and admitted, "That's very true. We are much more a football/rugby/polo kind of family; not even the Renaldi women are gardeners."

She inhaled and with an exaggerated grandness announced, "Well, then I shall be the first, and if necessary, only Renaldi gardener." She took one last rueful look at the grounds before turning to him with a disapproving shake of her head.

He laughed warmly and remarked, "A befitting role…you bring beauty with you wherever you go, after all."

As most of his compliments did, this one brought a blush to her face. He watched her smiling, and now decidedly pink profile for a moment longer and abruptly made a decision. He took a deep breath and touched her arm to stop her walking, saying softly, "Actually, that brings up an important point."

She turned to face him and looked at him with a curious smile, "What does?"

He paused a moment and looked at her thoughtfully, "That you're going to be a member of the Renaldi family."

She furrowed her brow, "Yes…"

He gave a short laugh at the clearly puzzled look in her eyes and put his hands in his pockets, "You know, it occurs to me that I have yet to fully find my footing when talking to you." The confusion on her face deepened and he explained quietly, "I'm always addressing things with you either too early or too late."

It was clear she still didn't know where he was taking this conversation, but a smile drifted across her face, "Well, 'too early' we've already covered…"

He took a deep breath and gave a reflective nod. "That's true, but I suspect that I'm equally guilty of the other."

He raised his head and looked past her toward the setting sun, fetching one more deep breath as he pulled a small velvet box out of his pocket. He didn't see her heretofore bewildered eyes widen into sudden comprehension as to what his small velvet box meant, his own eyes having dropped and fixed on what his hands were doing. He was grappling with a sudden nervousness he hadn't expected when he decided to do this. Perhaps he should have expected it, never having even come close to doing this before in his life, but he wanted do this properly and, if he could manage it, memorably.

He cleared his throat, "Clarisse, nothing can make up for my thoughtlessness in not having done this well before now, but…" He lifted his eyes to hers and paused at the disbelieving expression on her face before venturing gently, "I would be honored if you would be my wife." He paused to open the small velvet box revealing the engagement ring that his paternal grandfather had given his grandmother. With simple sincerity he asked, "Clarisse, will you marry me?"

Clarisse was so absolutely astonished it didn't even occur to her to muster effort enough to hide it. Her mouth dropped open and her hand covered her heart as Rupert proposed to her. Proposed to her…she couldn't believe it. She'd not seen this coming at all. In fact, she would have thought it unnecessary if it dawned on her that he might do something like this; wouldn't have resented him in the least if he had never done it at all. Yet, here he was, beautiful ring in hand, asking her if she would have him.

Very uncharacteristically, tears leaped into her eyes and threatened to fall; just imagining the thought he must have put into deciding when and how to do this; carrying the ring with him all day, for they'd not been separated since this morning; picking this precise moment to propose… she was staggered by the tenderness behind the gesture. And ashamed at how soundly she'd underestimated him. She really had no right to be surprised that he would do this. From the moment she'd met him, Rupert had made her feel cherished and cared for, made her feel as if she was important to him. And he'd done it once again, tonight.

This moment that she would have so blithely thought needless and superfluous…suddenly, meant the whole world to her.

Her eyes drifted from the ring to his face and she was greeted with a kind and patient smile as he awaited her response. She chuckled gently around a lump in her throat, "I'm sorry..." She shook her head and inhaled and exhaled, "I think I forgot to breathe for a moment."

His smile deepened slightly, "Took your breath away, did I?"

She exhaled once more, "Quite…"

He watched her carefully, deciphering what was written all over her face, "You weren't expecting this."

She looked up to him and shook her head, her breathing smoothing itself out as she admitted, "No. No I wasn't."

He wanted to ask why not, but found he didn't want to hear her answer. Now that he'd actually proposed, it felt like the most normal, most natural thing in the world to have done, and he didn't want Clarisse to tell him she thought a proposal wasn't necessary because of their 'special circumstances' or some other tactfully practical thing that would absolve him of not having formally asking her to marry him before now.

He spoke gravely, almost reproachfully, "You should have expected it, Clarisse." When he saw that he had her full attention, he explained softly, "A woman that a man very much wants to marry is proposed to; properly."

The significance behind what he said hit her very deeply and she struggled once more not to dissolve into tears. She blinked rapidly and smiled unsteadily before managing to say, "You are…the sweetest man."

His face took on a modest look as he seemed to adjust to her compliment. She gazed for a moment at the warmth of his expression and felt a surge of…love for him? She wasn't entirely sure, but thought it very well could be – or very well should be. All she did know at that precise moment was that she felt like the luckiest woman in the world.

She lowered her head and bit the inside of her lip, taking a few breaths. When she felt she'd collected herself, she exhaled quietly and raised her eyes. She smiled, "Yes. I will marry you, Rupert."

Rupert smiled broadly and sighed, sounding almost relieved. He closed his eyes briefly before saying softly, "You've made me very happy. Truly, Clarisse; very happy."

They stood smiling at one another in silence until he suddenly remembered he wasn't finished. He lifted his velvet box slightly and asked, "May I?"

She nodded quickly and held out her hand to him. She watched, captivated, as he took the ring out of its home and gently took her finger tips in his. As he slowly slid the ring on her finger, he said quietly, "This was the ring that my grandfather gave my grandmother." He held her hand in both of his as he gazed at the ring she'd wear until death did they part. He remarked, "Theirs was an arranged marriage…" He looked into her eyes with a small smile, "Not like ours."

She eyed him carefully, "Oh…"

His expression didn't change but he winked roguishly at her. She laughed quietly even as she felt the warmth behind her eyes. She looked down at the ring sitting on her finger, knowing that no matter how old she got and no matter what else happened in her life, she would always remember the sweetness of this moment. She smiled at him and whispered with a small shake of her head, "No. Not like ours."

Her eyes were inevitably drawn back to the unfamiliar weight resting on her finger. She murmured, "It's so beautiful."

Uncharacteristic apprehension rippled across his face as he asked, "Do you like it?" He looked at the ring with slight uncertainty in his eyes, "I thought about getting a new ring for you, or asking if you if wanted to choose your own…" He trailed off before giving a hesitant shrug, "…but, I just thought there was something to be said for the continuity of… history; the past. Family, I suppose."

She chuckled gently; there was that rarely seen sentimental streak of his peeking out through the suaveness that everyone saw. She reassured him softly, "This ring is perfect."

The doubt lifted from his face and was replaced with his usual easy confidence as he proudly regarded the ring on her finger once more. "And one day, our eldest grandchild can give this to his very special young lady…just as his grandfather did."

She raised an eyebrow and smiled tolerantly, "And what if our oldest grandchild is a grand_daughter_?"

He cocked his head as if the notion never occurred to him. After a moment of deep thought he said, "Are you sure you wouldn't rather have a new ring? 'Continuity' can get so complicated; I mean, you know how family can be…"

She laughed and shook her head. "No, no..." She wanted to say something clever, but her lip started quivering and she feared if she opened her mouth she would come completely undone. She swallowed hard and cleared her throat gently, looking up to him, "Thank you, Rupert. Thank you for…this; for all of this…"

Rupert smiled tenderly, but said nothing. His hands drifted up to cradle her face and she suddenly stilled, knowing instinctively he was going to kiss her…and kiss her differently than the not-exactly-chaste, but still modest kisses they'd shared up to this point. She had wondered what it would be like to kiss him – _really_ kiss him – but hadn't expected it to be this precise moment. She didn't do well when she had no time to prepare and was instantly struck by a paralyzing mixture of shyness, insecurity and something akin to performance anxiety.

When he leaned down slowly, his eyes gazing intently at her mouth, all the breath in her body seemed to settle high in her throat, making her feel fluttery with nerves. It seemed to take so long for him to finally touch his lips to hers, but the instant they did, her eyes drifted shut and she exhaled shakily into his mouth.

His mouth lingered intimately, delicately on hers for far longer than ever before, she was sure of it. He slowly withdrew and languidly dropped small, delicate kisses to her upper lip before lazily meandering down and teasing her bottom lip, as if he had all the time in the world to spend there. Which he did, really…they were engaged now; certainly some unregulated kissing, if nothing else, was permissible? Yes? Certainly.

In full agreement with herself, she finally, if tentatively responded to him, gently meeting his softness with small pecks of her own. After a time, she couldn't even begin to fathom how long, he gently pulled back from her; she was about to open her eyes to see where he went when his mouth pressed to hers more fully, more attentively. He moved his face, his lips, seeming to want to taste her from every single angle, leaving her to wonder if this was what being drunk felt like: altered, over-stimulated, not entirely in control. She was so _aware _of everything about him; how tall he was; how much rougher his beard felt than looked this late in the day; his sleeves tickling front of her shoulders. She could hear echoes of sound from deep within this throat every time she kissed him back; she vaguely realized that what she always assumed was cologne was actually his shampoo; she tasted the crème de menthe he'd had after dinner…

She sighed tremblingly as one after the other, little revelations filled in the gaps of her limited experience. She'd held hands, she'd hugged – she'd even kissed. But nothing she'd ever done was even remotely like this. She'd never felt _intimate_ with anyone, never done anything with any…intent. But this was Rupert…and they were going to be married…

Her hands wanted to touch him but she didn't know how, didn't know where. She was caught somewhere between her own burgeoning curiosity and what would be appropriate for her to do. She decided to let her fingers cautiously float upward and land near his waist, lightly playing with his shirt. As if waiting for just such an overture, he stepped closer to her, putting his body more fully in her hands. She gripped him convulsively for a moment, suddenly unable to think anything except that his thighs were pressed against hers. She flushed at the contact, but felt galvanized as well. She slipped her hands slowly up his sides and rested them firmly on his back.

Perhaps in response to her movement, perhaps of his own accord – she didn't know – Rupert's kisses became heavier, more intense. His mouth tugged at hers and her lips, instinctively knowing what he wanted, parted at his urging. He pulled and sucked on her bottom lip while her top lip effortlessly settled over his. When his tongue gently sought out and found her own, her stomach dropped and she became lightheaded at the sensation. She'd never, ever experienced something so intimate, so personal…so shamelessly sexual. She felt naked, as stripped bare as she imagined the actual sex act would be.

She exhaled dizzily, her heart threadily humming in her chest, as her head lolled backward when his tongue caressed hers again. She felt his hands slide down her neck and around her back pulling her as close to him as she could be. At the touch of her chest to his, he sighed deeply and covered her mouth with his for one long, indulgently sensual kiss that had her hands clutching the back of his shirt to keep from swooning.

Their kiss lingered as she vaguely felt his hands roam from around her back, up and over her shoulders. She had a frantic moment when she felt the palms of his hands slide down over the her collarbone, thinking for sure that he intended to make his way down to her breasts, but his hands crawled to a stop, his fingers resting on her shoulders.

His lips slowly, gradually relented and pulled back from hers. In the instant before their lips broke contact, he stole one more peck, pressing his lips to hers briefly before withdrawing completely. She felt his arms move slowly around her, his hands clasping together casually at the small of her back. She opened her eyes groggily when she felt him rest his lips on her head and breathe deeply.

They stood that way for a long moment, he breathing her in, she staring unseeingly at the collar of his white shirt. Finally, he loosened his hold on her and took a step back, smiling into her slowly upturning face. She gazed at him like an expectant owl and he couldn't suppress a chuckle. "So, in one day I've rendered you first breathless…and now speechless?"

She exhaled, "That was my first kiss." She amended with self-consciousness, "My first _real_ kiss…."

He nodded gently, having rather assumed that it would be when he first took her face in his hands. As he noted the flush across her freckled cheeks and the slightly unfocused look in her pretty blue eyes, he couldn't help feel a deep male satisfaction that under the pressure of being the man so honored as to bestow upon Clarisse her first 'real kiss'…he'd apparently made it a good one.

He clamped down hard on his amusement at his own bigheaded thoughts, lest Clarisse think he was having a chuckle at her expense; that would simply not do. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, leaning his head back slightly to peer into her face more fully and brushed his fingers through the front of her hair.

After a moment he murmured, "Then, my dear, you must be a natural, because that was..." He wrapped his arm around her, his hands loosely clasped at her back once again, and concluded gently, "...well…that was something I won't soon forget."

She shook her head fervently and whispered, "Me neither."

With that, he kissed the top of her head one last time and motioned down the path, "Shall we make our way back?"

She didn't know how long they'd walked – no longer simply side by side, she noticed, though couldn't remember when he had, or she had, for that matter, tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow – when he interrupted her mental replay of her favorite parts of their kiss with, of all things, a laugh.

She hoped he, too, wasn't thinking of their kiss, and asked cautiously "What's so funny?"

He began slowly, "Well, I was just thinking…" He interrupted his own sentence with another chuckle before regrouping, "Do you remember my mentioning the extensive security surveillance we have at the palace…?"

She nodded innocently, his amused face suddenly clueing her in to what he was saying. Her eyes grew wide and she exclaimed, "Oh, no! Please tell me you're kidding."

He tried to be reassuring but couldn't completely hide his amusement, "I'm…almost certain that I am, in fact, kidding. I _think_ we were in a blind spot, of sorts. There are a few of them around the palace; places where the cameras don't pick up…every…little thing." He trailed off sheepishly.

She shook her head accusingly and groaned, "Oh, good Lord."

He attempted to defend himself from the 'you should have made sure…' look in her eyes while still trying to keep the laughter out of his, "Clarisse, I swear…if I had been thinking more clearly at the time, I would have chosen a completely secluded spot but…well, it was just such a perfect time for a kiss. I mean, you looked so beautiful, especially after we'd just shared this very memorable engagement moment…it's such a beautiful night…It all conspired to take away my better judgment. I got swept away." He added, "That's how good a kiss it was!"

She almost laughed at his impulsive compliment at the end, but tried to remain stern. It was no use as she considered him for a moment before murmuring a concession, "Well, it _was_ a memorable moment." She added dryly, "Especially if we have videotape of it."

He tried, but couldn't help the laugh that burst out of his mouth at the look on her face. He put his hand over his mouth to minimize the sound and sight of his laughing fit, but still needed a minute to recover. The look of resigned patience she wore while she waited for him to collect himself caused a few errant chuckles to escape. After a few attempts to clear his throat he said, "I'm sorry, Clarisse. That…was just…No, this isn't funny."

She sighed in resignation, "Oh, God. Just the thought of the security staff watching us on one of those little monitors…"

Rupert shook his head, a bit more seriously, "No, no. First of all, the security staff are mature professionals and know when to show some discretion. Secondly, I do think we're safe. I think we were in a blind spot." He nodded assuredly, "Ninety-nine percent sure." He finished, "Ninety-nine point nine percent."

She sighed again but he detected a smile on her face, and she did take his arm once more. He thanked God he was a good kisser, or he might not have been forgiven so easily for such an oversight.

He remained in penitent silence for a few moments before cautiously observing, "You know, for the future, when you start thinking about planting your roses around the grounds, you might want to consider putting in a gazebo or a fountain or something of the like …" She turned her head to look at him but said nothing, and he explained, "In a blind spot. You know…for future, uhm, 'memorable' moments."

When all he got in response was a level stare, he further clarified, "I mean…that is, of course, if you…" He coughed, …ever let me kiss you again. Which I can plainly see won't be any time soon, but just in case…"

Clarisse's face broke into a smile and she shook her head at him…so romantic one moment, so silly the next. She mumbled, "I'll think about it."

He started all over again, "Really, Clarisse, if I had been thinking more clearly…"

She added helpfully, "I know, I know. But I just looked so beautiful…"

"You did! You joke, but you didn't see you, with the sunset behind you. If you had seen you, you couldn't blame me…"

TBC-

Okay, who out there asked for a kiss? Surprise! I was only one chapter behind you...hope it was worth the buildup!

K


	27. Splinters

It may not seem like it, but I am updating more frequently...I'm posting one day less than the posting before. In about 2 1/2 years, I'll be posting every day!

This is a shift from the last chapter..the focus is back on Clarisse's non-royal life and how it's affected by her now public royal life. (You should read it anyway!)

Happy reading! I'm off to work on the next chapter.

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"Whew! What a mess!" Elizabeth gasped as she came to a dripping halt inside the private room at the bridal boutique.

Natalie turned around with a smile from the rack holding the dresses her soon-to-arrive bridesmaids were going to try on, "Ah, you made it!"

Elizabeth shook her head, "I'm so sorry I'm late. Traffic is a bear with this rain." She shook her arms out and dropped the newspaper she'd been using as a umbrella on an armchair just inside the door.

Natalie smiled and walked over for a hug, "I know, I know. You should all be grateful that I knew this time of year was too rainy for a wedding."

Elizabeth accepted Natalie's hug before shrugging out of her raincoat and remarking wryly, "Just not too rainy for dress fittings."

She brushed herself off and straightened herself out, while observing "Of course, there's the added obstacle course outside that slowed me down even more."

Natalie nodded in agreement, "Mmm. I admit, the flashbulbs and general hubbub add a touch of glamour to things, but honestly, It's already getting a bit wearing. I don't how Clarisse is going to withstand this for the rest of her life."

Elizabeth fluffed her hair absently, "I know, and it's all so silly. I mean, what possible value can there be in a photograph of a woman in a raincoat running down the sidewalk with a newspaper covering her head? Yet, there they are…drowning like rats and clicking away like they've just stumbled upon Atlantis." She sighed and plopped herself on one of the two pink sofas, surveying herself in the three sided mirror across from her, "I tip my hat to Clarisse."

Natalie chuckled, and sat down next to her, "Well, today, they're not just here for Clarisse…" She motioned to the soggy mess of paper sitting on the chair, "Is that rain hat by any chance yesterday's newspaper?"

Elizabeth nodded at Natalie, "It is, as a matter of fact."

Natalie prompted, "Aaaandddd….how did it feel to read your name in print?"

Liz closed her eyes and shook her head, "Ugh. I admit, it gave me a…twinge."

Natalie nodded, "Mmm, it would me, too."

Elizabeth shrugged philosophically, "In all fairness, we were warned this would happen. Marcel Royer had called each of us shortly after the Prince made his decision, saying that they would do their best to keep all our names out of the paper for as long as they could, but at some point, our involvement would probably become public. He called again three days ago to tell me that 'this was it!', basically. An article detailing the quote-unquote 'search process' and those involved would be coming soon."

Natalie considered, "Well, it was a nice article. It didn't make things sound as if the Prince was just looking for an arrangement. It really showed the personal side of how it all happened."

Elizabeth smiled, "That's what I thought, too. There was a really nice quote in the article given by the ever-loving 'unnamed source' at the palace that said something to the effect that one need only look at Rupert and Clarisse to see that their's was a relationship not of arrangement but of choice."

Natalie nodded, "Yes, that was sweet."

Liz shrugged, "Look, the Prince needed to find a bride and so he met as many eligible women as possible in hopes of finding one he liked. Which, when you think about it, is how even we commoners find a spouse. We just don't have a staff to tend to the details."

Natalie chuckled, "That's very true." Natalie marveled after a moment, "My bridal party is known far and wide! Fame by association; the best of both worlds."

Liz groaned good-naturedly, "You know, I have no objection to my name being in the paper, I just wish it was for an accomplishment, not for something I _didn't_ get."

Natalie stated, "Well…it _is_ for an accomplishment: you were considered for the role of Her Majesty, The Queen of Genovia."

Liz looked at Natalie with slight surprise and then preened proudly, "Huh, I hadn't thought of that. You're right, of course. Thank you."

Natalie nodded and after a pause, Liz asked confidentially, "Sooooo…..do you think you can convince Vanessa to look at it that way?"

Natalie slumped and rolled her eyes, "Oh, God…I don't even want to think about it. I almost died when I saw there was an entire section devoted to her role as 'runner up'. A whole paragraph detailing her accomplishments…_and_ her defeats at the hands of Clarisse." She shook her head with a dejected sigh, "I ask you, was it really necessary for them to write things that way?"

Liz offered gingerly, "Well, itemized the way they were, it was easy to see just how impressive Vanessa's record really is. And the 'defeats' to Clarisse seemed small in number when compared to what she had accomplished…"

When Natalie simply looked at her with a 'oh, please' look on her face, Liz shrugged, "What can I say? I'm not as deft at putting a positive spin on things as you are."

Natalie sighed, "Well, let's just pray Vanessa's moved on. You never know, she may come in here with a 'couldn't care less' attitude."

Liz didn't indicate whether she thought that likely or not, but looked at her watch, "So, where are my fellow maids, anyway?"

Natalie sighed, "Well, I assume Vanessa's a bit delayed by the rain, and 'royal security'…" Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at the words, and Natalie reiterated with a nod, "…yes, _royal_ _security_, made a 'pass of the interior' right before you showed up, so I expect Clarisse very shortly."

Elizabeth crossed her legs and hummed, "Oh, my goodness. Security, no less."

Natalie nodded, "Clarisse is definitely not in Kansas anymore."

With that, the door to the dressing room opened and Vanessa appeared, looking as bedraggled as Elizabeth had when she arrived. Her eyes found the two of them to her right, sitting on the couch. She smiled a tired, sarcastic smile, "It's still raining."

Liz got up and greeted her with a hug, "So I see."

Natalie hung back for a moment, watching Vanessa's face over Liz's shoulder and noticed Vanessa looked annoyed, maybe more than could be blamed on the rain.

After Liz stepped aside, Nat moved in and hugged Vanessa, "Hello, doll. How are you?"

Vanessa mumbled, "If you've read the paper recently, you know how I am."

Natalie closed her eyes briefly, catching Liz's sympathetic gaze when she opened them again. Clearly Liz also believed that Nat's hope for a fatalistic attitude about the article from Vanessa was…a long shot.

Her coat hung along side Nat's and Elizabeth's on the coat rack, Vanessa attempted to primp herself back into suitability, pulling the wrinkles out of her shirt and running her hand through her hair as her eyes surveyed the room. "The Queen has not arrived, I take it."

Natalie stifled a weary sigh, visions of a singularly uncomfortable afternoon looming large in her mind. Embracing her optimistic nature, believing that everything was not necessarily lost, she took Vanessa's comment as a hearty joke. "Of course, she has. I'm standing right here!"

Liz laughed and Vanessa dutifully smiled as Natalie continued, "No. Clarisse is not here yet. She should be here soon." She most certainly did not want to mention she knew that because 'the Queen's' security had already reconnoitered the place.

Vanessa's only response as she walked across the room and sat down on the loveseat next to the rack of dresses was, "Can't wait."

Liz and Natalie exchanged worried glances before they retook their places on the larger sofa. The three of them lapsed into small talk about work, school, family, the wedding, the dresses…anything but current events being reported in the newspapers. It wasn't long before the moment Vanessa couldn't wait for and Natalie was dreading arrived and the door opened. Clarisse popped her head in and when she saw her friends, smiled broadly.

Her eyes rested on Natalie, "Hello, bride!"

Natalie smiled, "Hello, maid of honor."

Natalie walked over and gave her a hug as Clarisse said, "Oh, I'm so sorry I'm late. I didn't know it was going to rain!"

Liz was about to remark that she didn't either and had to use a newspaper as an umbrella, but thought better of it mentioning media of any kind, settling for, "Well, you don't think I _wanted_ my hair to look like this, do you?"

Clarisse laughed and accepted Liz's hug, "Oh, you look wonderful. I haven't seen you in so long."

"I know. We've all been so busy."

Over Liz's shoulder, Clarisse spied Vanessa standing across the room, arms crossed, watching quietly. Clarisse smiled at her and said, "And you busiest of all. I haven't seen you since…God knows when."

Vanessa ignored the urge to remind Clarisse it was in the student union the day they'd each received invitations to the palace, deciding to keep things simple. "How have you been, Clarisse?"

She exhaled as she let go of Liz, "Hectic, but doing well."

Vanessa nodded slowly but said nothing and made no move to greet Clarisse any more warmly than she already had. There was an awkward pause as everyone observed an interlude of silence for the moment when, if things were different, Vanessa would have hugged Clarisse.

Clarisse attempted to tie up the loose end of their conversation by offering, "Well, you have to catch me up on all that you've been doing. It's been so long since we've talked."

Vanessa's face seemed to spring to life, as if waiting for just such an opening. She remarked lightly, "Yes, it seems you and I are communicating through the newspapers these days."

The three of them blinked at Vanessa's comment, Clarisse in confusion, Liz and Natalie in disbelief that they'd heard Vanessa correctly and she was really bringing up the article. That she was mentioning it all was astounding, but that she'd done it within three minutes of Clarisse's arrival was simply mind-boggling.

Vanessa surveyed the three of them for a moment before clarifying, "The article in yesterday's newspaper…did you get a chance to read it, Clarisse?'

Liz raised her eyebrows and shook her head slightly as she sat down on the sofa, waiting for Vanessa's little show to end. Natalie turned to face Vanessa fully, still clearly taken aback that she was pursing this…now.

Clarisse glanced at both Liz and Natalie as she slowly began taking off her raincoat. She dropped it absently on the arm of the couch as she tried to follow where Vanessa was going. "The article that mentioned you and Liz, yes I did."

" 'Mentioned'?" Vanessa seemed to swirl the word around her mouth, "Yes, the article in which we were 'mentioned'."

Clarisse furrowed her brow, clearly noting the sarcasm and displeasure in Vanessa's voice, but sincerely baffled as to why. Treading cautiously, she again glanced at Liz as she observed, "I thought it was a very nice piece."

"I'll bet you did."

At that, Natalie spoke, "Vanessa, what _is_ the problem?"

Vanessa shrugged innocently, "No problem, I just wanted to congratulate Clarisse on her work."

Clarisse exchanged confused looks with Natalie and asked, "What work?"

"Well, it's clear that you're a quick study, and have learned how to wield the power of the crown quite deftly already."

Clarisse threw up her hands in confusion, "What are you talking about?"

The coyness dropped from Vanessa's face and tone, "I'm talking about the 'slant' you gave to the piece…framing it so that not only my coming in second in contention for the crown was made clear, but every other contest I've lost to you since we were fourteen years old was highlighted. A bit excessive, but undeniably compelling when put side by side like that."

The full weight of what Vanessa was implying took a moment to hit Clarisse. When it did, all she could do was ask for confirmation that she wasn't going crazy, "You think I had something to do with how that article was written? That I had the reporter...undermine you in some way?"

Natalie didn't even wait for Vanessa's answer; she knew immediately where this was going. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, sighing heavily, "Oh, my God, Vanessa."

Vanessa scoffed at Natalie's apparent disbelief, "What, Nat? Are you saying you don't believe the palace is in bed with the press? Don't be naïve. They've had an arrangement with the newspapers for generations, and they still do. This article reeks of it."

Natalie shook her head and walked over to the couch, unceremoniously collapsing on it, "You are unbelievable, Vanessa."

"If you don't believe me, just ask Clarisse. She's a royal now, she would know, and surely she wouldn't lie." She turned her attention to Clarisse with mock curiosity, "Would you, Clarisse? Heaven forbid! You wouldn't deny that palace is in cahoots with the press?"

Clarisse defensively attempted to clarify, "I wouldn't deny that the palace _does_ have a relationship with the press, but certainly not to the extent that it could dictate the content or…or…tone of an article. No newspaper in the country would stand for that, Vanessa." Clarisse furrowed her brow even more and shook her head in genuine confusion, "But, even if it could, Vanessa, what in the world would make you think I would specifically ask them to make you look bad?"

Vanessa rolled her eyes and exhaled impatiently, "Oh, spare me from this wide-eyed 'who me?' nonsense, Clarisse. It's insulting."

Clarisse gaped at her as Vanessa watched her extravagant outward show of bafflement. The sight of it sent a surge of temper through her; temper mixed with disgust as she realized Clarisse was never going to willingly admit to what she'd done; she'd, in fact, fight to the death to keep her faultless reputation in tact. Vanessa narrowed her eyes and walked right up to where Clarisse stood, intent on _making_ Clarisse tell the truth, once and for all.

She gritted her teeth and hissed, "You'd do it for the obvious reason that it would make you look better. And I don't care how subtle you think you are, Clarisse, you and I both know that that has _always_ been the most important thing in the world to you – to be seen as the smartest of us all, the most impressive, the one with the most potential."

Clarisse blinked at Vanessa's bald face accusations and surveyed the room, slightly consoled that Natalie and Elizabeth looked as surprised and confused as she felt. She rested her eyes on Vanessa once more and took a deep breath, slowly trying to get out in front of Vanessa's barrage of words, "Vanessa…I'm not going to deny that I've always wanted to do well and be recognized for my hard work. I admit that's true of me. That's true of all of us." She gestured around the room in hopes Vanessa would see they really weren't as far apart on things as she thought, "We all work hard to achieve success. I've never thought ambition was a character flaw, in either myself or anyone else."

Vanessa slowly crossed her arms, regarding Clarisse with an almost detached sense of wonder. She inwardly shook her head at the girl in front of her; she had to admit, Clarisse was good. She could spin anything to her advantage, even her own rampant egomania. It wasn't hard to see how Clarisse managed to hoodwink everyone from peers to teachers to parents – to the Royal Family itself – into believing the illusion of hyper-competence that she'd carefully cultivated over the course of years; complete fantasy though Vanessa knew it to be.

Vanessa could only chuckle scornfully, "Well, let's just say that none of us are ambitious in quite the same way you are, Clarisse."

The derision in Vanessa's tone was wearing on Clarisse and hints of irritation were beginning to dissolve the conciliation that she'd attempted to convey up to that point. A small frown of impatience graced her features as she shook her head briefly, "I don't know what that means, Vanessa."

Vanessa shrugged and tipped her head in the direction of Natalie and Elizabeth, "Well, yes, _we_ all want to be recognized as the best at this or that, but _we_ wear our ambition on our sleeves. We don't hide behind a…'veil', shall we say, of snobbish superiority "

Elizabeth started at the word 'veil' and her eyes shot to Natalie's, seeing that Vanessa's reference wasn't lost on her either. Guilt washed over Liz as she fervently hoped and prayed Clarisse didn't catch on. She slid her eyes to Vanessa once again, shooting daggers. If she could have she would have wrung her neck. Liz had honestly meant no real harm when she'd coined the term 'veil' that those who knew Clarisse best used to describe her, at times, stiff composure. It was just a good natured jibe, but she certainly never wanted Clarisse to hear it…at least not like this. Liz would never deliberately hurt Clarisse's feelings, but Vanessa was clearly not of that same mind and apparently thought that everything she could think of to cut Clarisse down was fair game.

Natalie gave one last glance at Liz and shook her head before she stood up and tried to put an end to the whole messy argument, "Alright, Vanessa, enough is enough…"

Vanessa plowed ahead talking over Natalie, never taking her eyes off Clarisse, "_You,_ on the other hand, think yourself too good to be seen actually wanting something. You'd never lower yourself to _campaign_ for something you want, never let yourself be seen lusting after some coveted prize. That doesn't fit into the 'I'm above all things' reputation that you've spent years trying to perfect. No, you prefer to appear as if success just finds you – you don't chase it, you don't work for it, it just comes to you…just because you're you, I suppose. It's all supposed to look oh, so effortless…But, in reality, all you do is hide behind convenient smokescreens."

Her voice took on a needling tone, as she mused, "Like the Royal Press Secretary, for instance. You need to make sure everyone knows the details of all the victories you've had over your nearest competition, but you'd sooner die than have the itemized list fall from your lips…so, why not let Marcel Royer do your dirty work for you? Right, Clarisse?"

Elizabeth jumped in, "Vanessa, come on now…"

Vanessa turned on her, "What? I'm just telling the truth, Elizabeth, and I'm the only one who is. That article has her fingerprints all over it."

Clarisse, stunned and pale, tried to calm the internal maelstrom inside her. She didn't know what to say, what to feel. She was outraged at the sheer injustice of Vanessa's accusation, speechless at her unrepentant nastiness and deeply hurt that someone she'd known for years would think so little of her. And listening to the words pouring out of Vanessa's mouth, Clarisse knew that this was no fit of pique, no verbal tantrum that, once she'd calmed down, Vanessa would regret having thrown. Vanessa meant every word she was saying, believed every accusation she was leveling. Clarisse could read the downright loathing in Vanessa's face. This was how Vanessa truly felt about her…how she must have always felt about her.

The humiliation at having considered Vanessa a friend, someone who clearly had nothing but contempt for her, was slowly engulfing her like a thick smoke. She had to stop her mind from spewing picture after picture of Vanessa – at the Union, at the library, at the tea house around the corner from the University – holding court among all of Clarisse's most fervent detractors, denigrating her behind her back, laughing at her expense, revealing God knew what personal things Clarisse had foolishly told her. She closed her eyes briefly at the thought of just how many people Vanessa must have disparaged her to over the years.

She inhaled and exhaled in an effort to keep the upset from showing in her eyes or being heard in her voice. The only moment she had in order to salvage any dignity was this one and she was not about to allow Vanessa to see her in a an emotional shambles; she would never forgive herself if she did. She seized desperately on the feeling of outrage that wafted over her at the picture of Vanessa waiting like some sadistic vulture to see her come unglued.

She cleared her throat slightly, tone low and with an air of finality. "I don't know where all this is coming from, Vanessa, but you're wrong about the article."

Vanessa nodded in exaggerated sarcasm, "Oh, of course I am, Clarisse. I know - you would _never _in a million _years_ do such a thing."

Vanessa shook her head and walked passed her to the chair near the door and sat down. She regarded Clarisse flatly for a moment and shrugged, "It's fine, Clarisse. I wouldn't go so far as to say 'fair and square', but you've won – again. You always do, after all. And now, the entire country knows just how decisive your triumphs have been. _That's_ your greatest victory, eh? Enjoy it, savor it…._revel_ in it, even. No one else in the world would believe you'd do such a thing, but you and I know better don't we?"

Even as she realized it was futile – Vanessa was clearly not going to be swayed by anything she said – and pointless – certainly there wasn't much left to rescue of their 'friendship' at this point – there was so much that Vanessa was wrong about, so much she misunderstood. If she would just for once listen…

Clarisse took a deep breath as she faced her and gave Vanessa one last chance to hear her out, "Vanessa, listen to me. Not once since this whole thing started did I consider the role of queen as a personal competition between you and me. I wasn't trying to take anything away from you or hand you a defeat of some kind. All I thought about was whether I could do the job, whether I was willing and able to take on the responsibility of becoming Queen to this country and wife to Rupert. If I didn't feel I could live up to what would be asked of me, I honestly would have bowed out."

Vanessa's eyes widened in offense and she snapped, "Oh, please Clarisse. How little respect can you possibly have for my intelligence if you think I would believe that?"

Clarisse jaw convulsively clenched at the grating sound of Vanessa's shrill voice and she turned away from her, wanting to kick herself for even attempting to engage Vanessa on a reasonable level. She should have just kept her mouth shut and let Vanessa's tirade just run out of steam.

Vanessa leaned forward and addressed Clarisse's back with disgust dripping from her voice, "For once, Clarisse, _just once_, do me the favor of dropping the patronizing false modesty and openly indulge in the satisfaction you feel at my defeat. Give me one moment of sincerity from you…just one, so that I can say that I've witnessed it, because I don't think I've ever heard an honest, unmeasured word come out of your mouth in all the years I've known you..."

Just when she'd congratulated herself for having girded herself sufficiently to endure Vanessa's apparently never-ending harangue, Clarisse's patience came to a sudden and abrupt end.

She rounded on Vanessa and hollered, "I will not _listen_ to this, Vanessa!"

Elizabeth and Natalie jumped in surprise at Clarisse's raised voice and gave one another a quick, stunned glance before turning their eyes to Vanessa. She wore a look of such open shock at the loud rebuke by the almost pathologically reserved Clarisse that, had someone walked in and seen Vanessa's face, they might assume that Clarisse had spit at her or slapped her.

In the silent seconds that followed, all eyes turned to Clarisse – ramrod straight, hands in fists at her sides, the very picture of fed-up fury – as she drove home her point stonily, "Not one…more…word."

The room was eerily still for a moment, but Natalie quickly moved to the edge of her seat when Clarisse suddenly strode over to where Vanessa was sitting – Nat wasn't sure what Clarisse was going to do and wasn't sure what she could do about it, but even the fleeting notion that she might need to restrain Clarisse physically indicated just how far into uncharted territory the four of them had sailed.

Clarisse hovered over Vanessa seething, almost trembling, with anger; the phrase 'How dare she?" blinking over and over in her mind like a neon sign. Clarisse's albeit brief foray into the hectic life of a royal had already taught her many things, chief among them that that she only had so much time to spend on any one thing and that her patience was a precious commodity that should be spent on only the most pressing of problems. The fragile ego and rampant insecurity of a woman who'd pretended to be her friend for almost a decade when she in fact detested her…did not qualify.

Clarisse looked down into Vanessa's face hotly, but tried to keep her voice calm, "Do you know why you refuse to believe that I wouldn't hold you up to public ridicule, Vanessa? Because you would that very thing to me. You wouldn't think twice about it."

Vanessa remained silent, if defiant, as Clarisse marveled at her as if she'd never really seen her before, "If I somehow managed to prove to you that I didn't slant that article against you…you'd think I was an idiot for _not_ doing it."

She shook her head, "That's the kind of person you are, Vanessa; the kind of person you've always been. All the work you put into realizing your goals, coveting every title, every plaque, every high profile post there was…none of them meant anything to you unless you managed to leave your competition bloodied and bowed in the process. That was always _your_ definition of victory. Your resume isn't a compilation of things you've achieved, but a litany of things you've taken from others."

Vanessa found her voice as she spat, "You are unbelievable. Does your obnoxious superiority have no bounds?"

A flicker of distaste rippled across Clarisse's face as she looked at Vanessa, "Look at you, you're eaten alive with frustration…not because you lost an opportunity you cared deeply about, but because you didn't 'beat' me. For you, none of this was about being a leader or becoming someone's wife – you never cared about the Monarchy, or the people, or Rupert or any of the rest of it; all you cared about was snatching something away so you could say you had it and someone else didn't."

She paused and cocked her head, unrestrained pity coming through her softly spoken words, "But, I do have it. And now, like the five year old you resemble…you're throwing a tantrum."

Vanessa stood up quickly and came to stand in front of Clarisse, "Your ego is mind-boggling if you think you carry any weight in even my most trivial concerns, Clarisse. And you're wrong about another thing; you better believe that I care about this country…I _weep_ for it, knowing such a soulless and contrived woman as you will be its Queen."

Vanessa knew she was hurtling toward the point of no return with every word she said and had sensed the waves of embarrassment for her and shame _of_ her that Natalie and Liz were sending her way the longer this argument went on. Her own mind made attempts to tell her that she was on the verge of losing things she'd never meant to put in jeopardy, that bridges were being burned, connections cut…but through it all she seemed in the grips of something larger than herself. So, rather than slam the breaks on this ugly scene, she simply took her hands off the wheel and let it careen toward its nasty end.

She leaned in closer and allowed unrepentant viciousness to creep into her voice, "As for Rupert, I pity him. He was as fooled as everyone else by your manufactured charm, but he'll pay the biggest price of all. His mistake will cost him the rest of his life married to a hollowed out husk of a woman. When the entire country is reading about the King's infidelities before you're first wedding anniversary, _that's_ when I'll stop pitying him."

Natalie's mouth dropped open and she shouted, "Vanessa!" at the same moment Elizabeth shook her head and gasped scornfully, "For heaven's sake, Vanessa."

Vanessa pretended not to hear them, even as a queasy, untethered feeling stole over her as she realized she'd just torn the fabric of friendships she'd enjoyed for most of her life. What made it worse was the one thing that would have made it all worth it…was not forthcoming. She stared at Clarisse, waiting, almost _willing_ her to break, to come unglued. But she didn't, she wouldn't. As the interminable seconds ticked by, Vanessa would have settled for even the quiver of her chin, or the rapid blinking of someone trying to fight her tears away, but all Clarisse gave her was a cold stare.

Then suddenly, Clarisse spoke, "Tell me something, Vanessa. The anonymous student at the university quoted in the paper a few weeks ago…the one who said some people were surprised that the Prince responded so strongly to me because of my somewhat 'frigid' personality…was that you?"

It seemed the air had gone out of the room as Vanessa's face heated visibly and Natalie and Liz grew as still as statues.

Clarisse continued, "It was an… evocative choice of words, I thought. Pointed, even."

The three of them had read that article. The whole school had, in fact. It focused on the Prince's new girlfriend's university life. A reporter from the Genovian Times had spent two days at the most popular haunts of the students, chatting with anyone who'd ever even seen Clarisse walk down the hall. The article was almost overwhelmingly positive, professors speaking of Clarisse in glowing terms, friends and fellow students attesting to always having known she'd reach great heights. There were a few 'she wasn't the most sociable girl' type comments, people wishing she'd been easier to get to know, but nothing that really stood out; except for this one anonymous comment.

Nat had deliberately not mentioned the article to Clarisse, holding out hope that with as busy as she'd been and as many article as had been written, Clarisse might have missed it. When in the days following the article's publication, Clarisse said nothing about it Natalie breathed a sigh of relief. The comment was the kind of thing that was largely trivial, but had the potential to get under Clarisse's skin in a way that a swipe at her record as Class President couldn't.

No one had yet owned up to having said the suggestive comment and while there was rampant speculation as to who did, no one really knew. It hadn't occurred to Natalie, or Liz if there personal speculations about it were any indication, that it might have been Vanessa, but after this display…

They all looked keenly at Vanessa, waiting to hear an answer, knowing what answer they wanted to hear, but hope fading that it would be the truth.

Clarisse stated flatly, "It was you, wasn't it Vanessa."

Vanessa considered Clarisse for a moment, apparently deciding what answer to give. She inhaled, "Actually, no. It wasn't."

Clarisse stared at her, trying somehow to divine whether she should believe her. She had no way of knowing, had no real proof, but someone – maybe her father, maybe Natalie, frankly, it could have been Vanessa herself – had once told her that one's gut reaction was usually the most sound. So, after a moment's hesitation, she decided to voice the first thought that had entered her mind when she heard Vanessa's answer, "You're a liar."

Vanessa chuckled at the irony that the most public slap at Clarisse was not her doing…but no one would believe her if she denied it. She exhaled sardonically, "Believe me, Clarisse. If I'd said it, I would claim credit."

Clarisse remarked quietly, sadly, "Yes, perhaps I'm wrong in crediting you with even that small amount of shame. You, yourself seem surprised I would think you have any."

The lazy cynicism on Vanessa's face slowly hardened, and Clarisse suddenly felt exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl back into bed; scrape this entire day off her shoe.

She took a breath and walked to the couch, picking up the coat that she'd dropped absently on the arm of the sofa when the wild rumpus started. It hadn't even made it to the coat rack. She announced heavily, more to the room than anyone in particular, "I'm leaving."

Natalie sighed audibly and rested angry eyes on Vanessa, who merely watched Clarisse put on her coat. Liz shook her head at the whole bloody mess and gave Clarisse a hug once it was clear she was leaving and it was pointless to stop her. She whispered quietly, "I'm sorry. We'll talk soon?" Clarisse nodded and gave Liz a small squeeze before walking past Vanessa, toward the door with Natalie right behind her.

Vanessa and Liz stood uncomfortably for a moment, before Vanessa broke the spell and moved to sit on the couch vacated by Natalie. Liz stared at her, wrestling with the equally strong urges not to speak to Vanessa again, or say exactly what was on her mind.

Vanessa leaned her head back on the couch, casually playing with the edge of her shirt as she counted the seconds off in her mind until Liz said something, which she knew she would. It took 32 ticks of the clock before she finally addressed her.

"That was disgraceful."

Expecting as much, Vanessa sighed tiredly, "It doesn't matter now. It's over."

Liz barked a short laugh, "An apt choice of words. You were simply beyond the pale, Vanessa, and Natalie is not going to forget this spectacle. Neither will I, for that matter."

Vanessa slowly lifted her head off the couch and gazed at Liz, "First of all, this 'spectacle' is not the cause for things being over. Our unraveling began the minute the palace contacted both me and Clarisse. Something was going to bring things to a head, and it happened to be this. As I said to Natalie, she and Clarisse are friends. She and I are friends. Clarisse and I are not friends." At the hurt shock on Liz's face, Vanessa scoffed tiredly, "It's time we all grow up and realize that things change. Just because we've all known one another for however many years, does not mean we still should."

She continued after a moment, "Second of all, it's takes two to make an argument get off the ground. I wasn't the only one who was beyond the pale. You heard the things she said to me, she's not innocent."

Liz shook her head slowly, "You came in here looking for that argument."

Vanessa shrugged vaguely and leaned her head back on the sofa once more. "Well, as I said, it doesn't matter."

She swallowed and continued more softly, "A couple of weeks ago I looked into an opportunity I'd heard about at Kingston University; to be the research assistant to the head of the Sociology department there. A couple of my professors agreed to write letters of recommendation. My resume should do the rest." She raised her head and grinned slightly, "No matter what Clarisse says, my resume is a good one." She shrugged, "I expect to be offered the position. Which means I wouldn't be here in September."

She looked vaguely toward the exit door, "That article about all of us…and seeing Clarisse today…I've made up my mind. I can't stay here in Pyrus. I won't." She turned back toward Liz, "I'm going to tell Natalie I won't be able to be in her wedding."

Liz stared, both stunned and yet vaguely relieved to hear Vanessa's news. On any other day, she would have railed against Vanessa and her selfish immaturity in leaving a good friend in the lurch, but frankly, it seemed best for all concerned if maybe she did just…go.

She considered and rejected countless things to say, but none of them seemed appropriate…she couldn't bring herself to be consoling and kind to Vanessa, but neither did she have the heart to be cruel and judgmental. Just looking at Vanessa, alone and solemn on the couch, Liz knew that of all of them, she would suffer the biggest loss.

And, ironically, Clarisse figured into it once again.

TBC...in less time than it took to post this one!


	28. The Parliament Dinner, Dread

Okay, before you start throwing the brickbats, let me explain….

I know, considering how long it's been since I've updated that this might seem like a short chapter, but I have been working on three chaps simultaneously. While that meant a longer wait this time, it will mean a shorter wait for at least the next three…

That's good, right? (Well, let's hope so…)

Just to recap, Clarisse and Rupert are engaged and the press is all over them. While Clarisse is coming off well, Vanessa was none too pleased about some of the reporting and made no bones about accusing a mystified Clarisse of being behind the negative slant.

Which brings us to…now. Action!

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Clarisse was so nervous she felt lightheaded. She was actually frightened at how nervous she was.

Truth be told, she'd never looked prettier than she did at this moment, standing atop the dress maker's pedestal in her light pink gown, borrowed jewels and scrupulously applied makeup, but all of it did little to improve her mood. She stared at herself in the three way mirror as the palace's resident seamstress endlessly tweaked the hem on her gown. Clarisse wondered about the woman's competence in that she managed to find something to adjust at every single one of the four fittings Clarisse had had for this particular dress. She imagined that if the parliament dinner was in two months rather than in two hours, this woman would have found two months' worth of fussing to do. As it was, she threw two more stitches into the hem, which had looked ruler straight to Clarisse from the second fitting on, and declared that the dress was now 'parfait'. With those bold words, Clarisse was apparently ready to take parliament by storm.

Try as she might, however, she could not shake the strong urge to feign a stomach flu and beg off going to this dinner altogether. It made no sense, especially considering how long she'd known about this dinner and how much time she, Marcel and Rupert had put into preparing for this evening, but she felt desperately…unarmed ; like she was being asked to enter a funhouse blindfolded.

And nothing helped to get rid of the feeling. Nothing she usually told herself in anxious moments to calm herself down, to ramp herself up, to get herself on an even keel had any effect tonight. Lists, songs she would sing to distract herself, even the rather lame offering that, one way or another, it would all be over in a matter of hours didn't help. She was actually getting more fearful with every moment.

She fleetingly thought of calling Natalie but the instant the idea entered her mind, she rejected it. It just wasn't an option. Perhaps on the surface it was, but things had…changed. Her friendship with Natalie was one of a thousand things in her life that she suddenly felt ill-equipped to handle properly.

Since 'going public' with her status as Rupert's companion, she thought she had been keeping up with all the changes to her life well enough, but last week at the bridal boutique…well, not only had she stepped on a landmine she didn't know was in her path, she'd never even realized she'd wandered into a minefield at all. That disconcerting feeling of being caught so completely unawares was frightening. Deeply so.

Growing up, it had never been lost on her that she was an intelligent girl. She felt no particular guilt or immodesty in admitting that to herself; people had their assets, after all, and one of hers was a sharp mind. Things were not as Vanessa supposed, with good things seeming to happen to Clarisse for no good reason; she was smart, she was clever and she _made_ good things happen for her. She seemed always instinctively to know what was the right thing to do, what was the best course of action to take. One of her greatest gifts, if those who'd worked with her were to be believed, was her ability to assess a situation, both promising and perilous, see even the most innocuous looking hazards and negotiate a way around and through them to come up with a fair and beneficial solution.

But since her 'friendship' with Vanessa exploded in her hands like a grenade she didn't even know was live, she no longer felt she could take her own intelligence for granted. Her antenna was clearly very badly off and without it she felt defenseless, wary to take even the smallest step. If she was so wrong about a person who'd been a part of her life for almost a decade, how many other assumptions had she made, wrongly, that were just out there waiting to be detonated? How competent was she, really, at sizing up a situation, a circumstance, a person? How right was Vanessa when she implied that Clarisse's success was all smoke and mirrors?

She was paralyzed with indecision as to how much weight even to give this uncharacteristic insecurity; should she brush off her worry as a singular blip on her otherwise clear radar screen or take it as a warning sign that something was dreadfully wrong and stop everything until she figured out how to fix the problem so it didn't happen again?

She knew what Natalie would say to that question; Natalie never let Clarisse get away with indulging her self-doubt. She would stop it at its inception, try to keep Clarisse from making the unnecessary journey through emotional brambles and tell her to just accept that she was a remarkable woman, already.

Yet, those supportive moments seemed so long ago now, and no longer held the power over Clarisse's state of mind that they once did. Things had changed. Natalie was still Natalie, but Clarisse was no longer who she was; or at the very least wasn't going to remain who she had been for very much longer. She realized how much things had changed in the lobby of the bridal boutique when Natalie tried to convince Clarisse to stay. It was clear from their conversation that Natalie hadn't seen how different things had become, but Clarisse had.

She'd made her escape from the humiliating scene in the suite, hoping to sneak out the back door to avoid the press. She hesitated and considered simply hiding in the store long enough that it wouldn't be obvious to anyone who might notice her leaving that she was unexpectedly rushing out. As she shrugged her coat on trying to decide, not very surprisingly, she heard Natalie's voice calling for her.

"_Clarisse! Clarisse, come back. Please don't leave." Natalie caught up to her and held her elbow to keep Clarisse from bolting. _

_Clarisse nodded reassuringly, "It's alright, Nat. Go back and do what you've got to do. Pick out a dress and I'll get fitted at another time." She inhaled, fussing with the cuff of her jacket, "I just…I should go now." _

_Natalie looked at Clarisse keenly, cutting right to the heart of things, "You know why she's acting this way. She's jealous. She always has been and this…spectacle is nothing new; just a variation on what's becoming a tiresome theme from her." _

"_All the same, this isn't the time or the place to hash it out. I don't want all of this infecting your wedding." _

_Natalie said shortly, "It won't. Not after today. I'm going to tell Vanessa she's out of my wedding." At the immediate shake of Clarisse head and attempt to argue, Natalie held up her hand, "No. I won't have this. It's obnoxious. Not just to me because I'm the bride, but to you and Elizabeth, to everyone involved...Vanessa's insecurities aren't going to run roughshod over things anymore." _

_Clarisse shook her head patiently, "No, Natalie. Really, I'm the one that should bow out." _

_Natalie looked askance, "What are you talking about? That's ludicrous! She's the one being ridiculous, she's the one to go." _

_Clarisse sighed and tried to maintain a reasonable tone, "Natalie, when all is said and done everything will be easier if I'm not a part of things. I mean, not just with Vanessa, but with all of it." She gestured vaguely with her hand, "Everywhere I go, I bring security guards and the press…dress fittings and picking out flowers and wedding cakes, it's all so supposed to be a precious time in your life. But, if I'm a part of it, it'll become a logistical nightmare." She smiled sadly, "I mean how can I fulfill my duties as your maid of honor and spring a surprise bridal shower on you when you can read all about my secret planning in the Genovian Times?" _

_Natalie tried to smile but her face was full of deep concern at the sight and sound of such weary resignation within Clarisse. She offered quietly, "Clarisse…do you want out of this wedding? Is it…too much, along with everything else you're dealing with…" _

_Clarisse frowned and shook her head quickly, looking Natalie directly in the eye, "No, not at all, Natalie. That's not it." She shrugged, " It's...it's what I said."_

_Natalie peered at Clarisse closely, "Alright, it's what you said…and what else?" _

_Clarisse gazed at Natalie and briefly thought about stonewalling but…today was already ruined. She might as well pile it on now rather than rain on one more of Natalie's parades. She sighed, "Well, looking down the road…I know the palace is going to want to make a formal engagement announcement." At Natalie's raised eyebrows, Clarisse clarified, "I don't know exactly when, but from what I gather, they wouldn't want to wait too long after the parliament dinner." She paused for a moment before continuing quietly, apologetically, "I can virtually guarantee it would happen before September." _

_Clarisse watched Natalie absorb what she'd said, and was surprised at her response. Natalie smiled a small smile, "Congratulations are in order then?." _

_Clarisse blinked once and must have given Natalie a look of such bafflement that Natalie needed to ask, "You're happy about being engaged, yes? This is good news, I assume?" _

_Clarisse exhaled a laugh, "Well, of course it is…for me!" She shook her head with a sigh, "But, it certainly steals your thunder, doesn't it? Natalie, you must know that under normal circumstances I wouldn't in a million years get engaged, let alone announce it, while you were planning your wedding. But these aren't close to being normal circumstances and I'm working on someone else's schedule." _

_Natalie nodded impatiently, "Of course, Clarisse…" _

_Clarisse shook her head tiredly, "It's bad enough that you can't get a bridal fitting without getting your picture taken, but if you have the Crown Prince's fiancé as part of your wedding…the press will be everywhere and what's supposed to be your day will become all about me." _

_Natalie shrugged and shook her head, "So, we'll work it out. I mean, it's not as if you'd be _stealing_ my press, Clarisse; I wasn't planning to have the wedding show up in the papers in the first place." She reached out and touched Clarisse's arm, "Anyone who matters – my mother, Colin's mother, Colin, YOU – will all know whose day it really is." She cocked her eyebrow, "If you all know what's good for you." _

_Clarisse smiled dutifully but shook her head. Natalie just didn't understand how impossible the situation was. She was still trying to fix things, trying to get Clarisse to stop over-thinking and making things more complicated than they were. The problem was that, this time, things were as complicated as Clarisse saw them to be. _

_Natalie smiled and put her arm around Clarisse's shoulder, "Clarisse, look…this parliament dinner, it's this weekend?" At Clarisse's quiet nod, Natalie made a decision, "Alright. Just get through this weekend before you start making rash decisions about my wedding. I mean, in one breath you are so concerned about protecting 'my day' and in another you're making decisions for me about who will stand up for me on that day." When Clarisse turned to look at her, possibly to defend herself, Natalie said strongly, "I want you in my wedding. It's as simple as that. My day won't be what I want it to be if you are not my maid of honor. Whatever…accommodations I have to make to ensure that, I'll make." _

_Clarisse said nothing, not having the strength to argue anymore. Nat would see soon enough how things had changed. If she didn't want to hear Clarisse now, she would be forced to later. For the moment, Clarisse let Natalie have her way. _

_Nat hugged Clarisse close, "Go home and get some rest. I'll call you Sunday…" She pulled back and stared into Clarisse's eyes intently, "…because we're not done talking about this." _

That's where they had left things and for the first time, Clarisse was not heartened by talking to Natalie about a problem. She desperately wanted to believe what Natalie said, but this situation wasn't as simple as all those trivial grade school problems they'd solved together, problems that once seemed like the end of the world.

She inhaled and exhaled heavily and shook her head to clear it. She regarded her calm and rather lovely image in the mirror and took some comfort in the knowledge that no one would ever be able to detect any of her disquiet on her face. She felt slightly less defenseless at the sight, but even as she vowed to hold onto the faint hope that Natalie was right and things would seem more manageable once she got through this dinner, the persistent and dreadful feeling that things were breaking apart in her once nimble hands simply would not leave her.

TBC...soon. Promise. Really. I swear. Put that tomato down.


	29. The Parliament Dinner, T minus 1 Hour

As promised, an earlier than usual update!

I'm about to be descended upon by family for the Thanksgiving holiday and figured between cleaning, cooking, eating, fighting, watching football and cleaning up, it would be forever and a day by the time I got back to my computer.

So, here we are, one step closer to the Parliament dinner. Not much more to say really, except that if it seems short, keep in mind that the next chapter is already 80 percent finished so a quick turnaround on the next chap is in the offing.

Happy reading! (And for those hip deep in turkey giblets like I am, Happy Thanksgiving!)

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Rupert meandered about the study, bored. The first one dressed and ready, as usual. It was infuriating; he could _start_ getting dressed while everyone else walked down the stairs toward the limos and he would still be in his seat first. He understood the ladies taking a bit of time, but honestly, his father and Etienne were just being indulgent. He collapsed sulkily on the couch and settled in for the duration.

After countless moments and one scotch later, Etienne ambled into the room. Noting Rupert sprawled casually on the sofa, he asked, "So, how do I look?"

Rupert droned disinterestedly, "Very pretty."

Etienne studiously ignored Rupert's comment and made himself a drink. "Any sign of anyone else?"

Rupert stood and stretched, "Not a one." He sighed petulantly, "It's disgraceful how long it takes for some people to put on clothes."

Etienne glanced over his shoulder with a chuckle, "Nervous?"

Rupert shook his head dismissively, "No, not at all. Just anxious to get this evening over with. I hate Parliament dinners. We spend an entire year going at it hammer and tong with Parliament, and then for one night we pretend we all want to share a meal." He shook his head wearily, "It's ludicrous."

The more easy going Etienne merely sipped his drink and agreed, "Mmm. Well, at least this year you'll have some charming company on your arm."

Rupert smiled, "That's very true."

Etienne unbuttoned his coat and sat down, "So, how is Clarisse? I haven't spoken to her this past week."

"Oh, she's fine." Rupert walked over to the window and absently gazed at the garden. He continued with a small chuckle, "I think she's finally getting a bit worn out with all of this, though. She's been a bit quiet the last few days."

Etienne nodded, "Well, God knows she's got stamina, but it was bound to happen. She's a trooper and dealt with everything very well." Etienne laughed to himself, "Maybe too well. I think mother is getting annoyed that she's had nothing to harp on with Clarisse's handling of things."

Rupert turned and laughed, "Don't say that to Clarisse. She'll feel jinxed."

After they shared a laugh, Rupert exhaled deeply and sat in the chair across from Etienne, who noticed the pensive mood that slowly enveloped his brother.

Etienne raised his eyebrows a bit, "What is it?"

Rupert looked up suddenly, startled out of his reverie. "What? Oh, nothing." He sighed, "It's just…difficult." At Etienne's questioning look, Rupert continued, "I feel responsible to Clarisse; for what I'm putting her through." He sighed and shook his head, "Just watching what she's had to go through…"

Etienne nodded in understanding, "Ohhhh, yes, I see. It's very hard not to feel guilty about all the hoops she'll have to jump through by being with you." Etienne smiled, "Believe me, I know."

"Exactly. I had the urge to apologize to her when she arrived this morning and the limo was besieged by the press as she drove through the gate."

Etienne shrugged, trying to console as best he could, "She's got that part down. She doesn't even flinch at the cameras, anymore. She never did, really."

Rupert grumbled, "I know, I know." He sighed and looked at Etienne, a frown on his face, "It's just that, listening to some of the things that Marcel counsels her on…it's makes me cringe. Silly things like how to drink champagne, you know, 'always take a glass when offered, but make sure at least four to seven minutes pass between sips', and 'when at a public function, don't smile too big at anything anyone says or the camera might catch your fillings in the photos.'"

Etienne nodded knowingly but remained quiet. Rupert shook his head slowly, staring broodingly into the distance before marveling quietly, "I just about died when Marcel reminded her always to wear a slip under her dress so no one could get a risqué picture if the sunlight was behind her."

Etienne smiled a little to himself, having watched Sara go through Marcel's crash course in how to be a royal. He knew exactly how uncomfortable Rupert was, but Etienne and his wife having come through the other side of things, he had some perspective on the matter that he hoped would be of comfort. "You know, Rupert, Marcel's just doing his job. Ultimately, as silly as these things sound, his little 'tricks' make things easier on Clarisse."

Rupert's eyes came back to Etienne's and he said sincerely, "Oh, I know. It's not that; it's not Marcel." He explained, with some difficultly, "All of this…nonsense is second nature to us, I mean, I never even think about it." Etienne nodded in agreement. Rupert continued with real worry in his voice, "But now, looking at my life through Clarisse's eyes, it all just comes across as so…preposterous." He paused, looking down at his hands, "I guess on some level I just don't understand why she is doing this. Why would she, or anyone, for that matter – Sara, Mother, whomever Madeleine marries – anyone…why would they deliberately put themselves through this?"

Etienne took a breath and raised his eyebrows, not entirely prepared for such existential questions before dinner. But then, for all his outward nonchalance, Rupert always was a man of deep complications and worries. For the millionth time in his life, Etienne thanked the Lord above he had not been the first born.

Trying to answer Rupert's question as best he could, Etienne began, "Well, mother's parents arranged her marriage to father out of a sense of responsibility and duty to the country."

He paused noting the pensive discomfort that crossed Rupert's face at that answer. Etienne hoped to be more reassuring as he spoke of his own marriage. "As for Sara, well…she loves me."

Rupert laughed slightly and nodded. Addressing the third part of Rupert's question, Etienne furrowed his brow in genuine curiosity, "I don't know about Madeleine…I don't know how much different it makes the situation when you switch the genders around."

They sat for a moment, Etienne lost in wonder as to what kind of man would wind up walking beside his sister, and Rupert chewing on Etienne's observations. Rupert finally admitted, "I just don't know – if I were in the position to choose – if I would do what Clarisse is doing; opt to live this life." He looked up at Etienne directly, "Would you? _Choose_ this public life? "

Etienne closed his eyes and shook his head, "Oh, Rupert, you shouldn't be asking yourself questions like that…let alone asking me. They're pointless and impossible to answer. You feel bad about all that Clarisse has to get accustomed to in order to be with you. That's normal, it's fair and it's damn sensitive of you, but don't start trying to take responsibility for Clarisse's whole life. I mean, she has been inundated with advice and words of caution and encouragement from you, me, Sara, Madeleine, Marcel, even mother and father. Well, father."

He was relieved to get a small smile from Rupert. He went on, he hoped, reassuringly, "My point is, she's gotten a real picture of the maneuverings and logistics that go with being by your side and she hasn't run screaming into the night. At some point you are just going to have to trust that she is here because she wants to be here."

Grumpy worry still creased Rupert's brow as grumbled, "I suppose, but it's difficult to put your trust in something that you don't really understand."

Etienne wanted to comfort Rupert and finally just stated the obvious, "For all you know, part of why she's stayed is because of…you." After giving Rupert a moment to be reassured, Etienne added, "The mind reels at the thought, but it could technically be true. I suppose."

Rupert nodded indulgently, "Ha, yes, I was waiting for the rest of that."

Etienne chuckled, "Well, at dinner tonight, if she throws her barely touched glass of bubbly in your face, you'll know whether you were right to worry." At Rupert's first genuine smile of the afternoon, Etienne said, "Then you can fire Marcel for his telling her to take the champagne in the first place. I'll explain it all to mum and dad."

Henri strolled in straightening his sash, "Explain what, pray tell?"

Rupert exhaled dramatically, "Oh, finally, some movement from upstairs! I thought you'd all slipped into comas."

Henri shot his cuffs briskly, ignoring Rupert, "I passed both of your ladies chatting in the hallway. They should be down momentarily." He looked at the two of them archly, "And what such lovely creatures are doing with the rumpled likes of the two of you is beyond me."

Rupert and Etienne shared a smirk as Henri continued, "My lovely lady, on the other hand…" He meandered over to the bar and murmured, "There's definitely time for a drink."

Rupert sighed dejectedly at that news, but perked up when he heard Clarisse and Sara on the stairs. A smile slowly spread across Rupert's face when Clarisse, a vision in light pink, came into the study. Her eyes found his and she smiled, immediately crossing the room to him. He took her hands and held them aloft, content to merely gaze at her for a moment.

Henri muttered to no one in particular as he took a sip of his drink, "I told you."

Rupert leaned down to kiss Clarisse's cheek and whispered, "You're stunning."

Clarisse closed her eyes and accepted his kiss, giving his hand a small squeeze. She exhaled, almost sounding relieved, and smiled at him as he stepped back. She looked at him in slight wonder, shaking her head, "You look so handsome."

He shrugged and glanced down at himself in full military regalia, "Anyone can look good in one of these." He motioned to Etienne in his dress uniform, "See?"

Rupert smiled when she chuckled and lead her to the couch to sit and wait the arrival of the Queen. As he chitchatted with his father, brother and sister-in-law, two things distantly occurred to him. One, Clarisse had lapsed into silence as she had been doing for the last week, and two, she hadn't let go of his hand when they sat down. At some point, in fact, had even put her other hand on top of their already clasped ones. He took a concerned peek at her and saw the faraway look in her eyes and the slight frown line between her eyebrows. His eyes dropped to their entwined hands for a moment and leaned in to her quietly, "Clarisse, are you alright?" At her startled and questioning expression, he whispered, "You're shaking."

She shrugged vaguely but said nothing, the frown line in her brow never leaving her face. He cocked his head to one side in surprise, "Are you nervous?'

Her eyes seemed to restlessly scan the room before dropping to her lap. Almost too quietly to hear, she breathed, "A little."

He was quite frankly surprised to hear that. He certainly was aware that she had been nervous during this moment or that over the course of the past few weeks, but she'd never owned up to it when he'd asked. The fact that she had given voice to her nerves tonight gave him pause. He hoped it meant she was growing even more comfortable around him. And not that her willingness to admit to the relatively benign emotion of 'nervous' meant she was actually petrified.

He whispered seriously, "Clarisse."

When she looked over at him he slowly shook his head, "Everything is going to be fine." He paused for a moment and promised, "I'll be with you…everything will be fine."

He watched her closely as she seemed to decide to believe him. The crease in her brow smoothed itself and her hold on his hand loosened slightly. She offered him a nod, "Alright."

He gave her a small grin, which she returned. She seemed almost embarrassed when she quietly said, "Thank you."

Thinking back to his conversation with Etienne, Rupert shook his head, "Thank you, Clarisse, for coming with me tonight. And for everything else you've done."

She took a deep breath and smiled a smile he knew was real. "You're welcome."

He knew she was feeling better when, after a few minutes of comfortable silence, she leaned to him and said, "If you can figure out how to get them to my plate, I'll take the pears half of your dessert so you don't have to eat them."

He laughed at the very idea, then suddenly cocked his head to one side, "Wait, that might actually work." He looked down at her, "I'll have to think about that."

She nodded decisively, "I'll think of a code name."

By the time his mother finally made her appearance and they all began their trek to dinner, to Rupert's utter relief, Clarisse seemed to have shed her uncharacteristic nervousness and was once again the calm and comforting presence on his arm.

TBC


	30. The Parliament Dinner, Disaster

Oh, boy.

Let me first apologize for how long this update took…December got really hairy, is all I can say.

Things seemed to have settled for the moment and, for anyone still interested, I do plan on finishing this story so I have my next chapter with me.

To update: Changes in her life, clashes with old friends and an all around crisis of confidence has Clarisse awash in self doubt as she plans to accompany Rupert to the Parliament dinner.

I give you…(drumroll)…The Parliament Dinner!

Hope you have a better time than Clarisse is...

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The crash was deafening…and the silence that followed even louder. The seconds stretched lazily on and on and on while the unreal scene replayed itself, frame by frame, for the benefit of her disbelieving mind. Like a puzzle dumped out its box, each piece was insignificant in and of itself, but when put together their collective magnitude was felt. The picture forming with these particular pieces was…ominous.

She'd felt a pull at the back of her dress. Someone behind her gasped. She'd winced at what had sounded like a thousand cymbals hitting the marble floor. Something had whisked past her. China and crystal crunched, flatware clanked.

Her mind sluggishly, stupidly put the bits together; all evidence seeming to point to the undeniable fact that she had…somehow…some way…knocked over a suit of armor. An entire suit of armor. In front of every member of parliament, their wives, Rupert and his whole family…in front of God and everyone, she'd knocked over a suit of armor.

Yes, that explained the tug at her train, the gasp; most especially it explained the earsplitting crash. The spear was superfluous, really, but did add a certain 'smoking gun' quality to the scene as it lay across the table, all but having run through the suckling pig.

Her mind, like the dining room in which she was trapped, sounded as hollow as a coffin. Eerily, as if from deep inside a well, she did begin to hear the toneless whisper of her consciousness repeating quietly, 'This really happened'. Lest she try to convince herself otherwise, the horrified voice in her head assured her that this was not one of the dozen 'wouldn't it be awful if I did this' scenarios that she'd been torturing herself with before dinner. This was a calamity that she had actually, literally – unbelievably – committed.

Of all the ways she envisioned making an embarrassing spectacle of herself – falling down the stairs, saying something idiotic, spilling something on herself or someone else – nothing quite with this level of horrific grandeur had entered her mind. Even if she'd _thrown_ herself down the stairs she'd have made less noise and caused less damage; might have even garnered some sympathy. But this…

Time which had been stretched to its limit like a rubber band, suddenly snapped back and surpassed itself as her mind rocketed toward outright panic. The impact of what she'd done hit her with a force that left her, for one ghastly moment, truly convinced she was going to be sick right then and there. She felt a ripple of mortification and fright worm its way throughout her body, leaving every inch of her from her ankles to her eyelids scorched in a trail of heat. Tears of vicious humiliation threatened to spill, her throat painful with them, her lips quivering to let them out.

It was Rupert's voice cutting through the hysteria in her mind that derailed her utter emotional breakdown. She barely heard what he'd said, but was stopped dead in her tracks by the incongruously casual – even amused – tone in his deep voice as he leaned past her slightly to survey the damage.

He took it all in for a moment, gazed at her and drawled carelessly, "And here I thought _I_ was your knight in shining armor."

She regarded him blankly and found the same mild humor she'd heard in his voice written across his face. She ogled him in confusion, distantly wondering if he didn't realize that it was she who had caused this horrible spectacle. She finally focused on his eyes and was riveted by the sharp intensity she found there. His face was genial but his eyes were boring into her, speaking to her. He seemed to be trying to anchor her, to help her pull herself together and right her ship through the sheer force of his gaze.

In that instant, clarity returned with at thud. She suddenly remembered who she was, where she was, who she was with. She'd come to this damned dining room to sit down to her first royal dinner party at Rupert's side and he was counting on her to…do her job. More importantly, he'd planned to count on her in situations just like this for the rest of his life. She had led him to believe, erroneously as it had turned out, that he could trust his reputation with her, that he could rely on her to help him do what he had to do. For all that she'd probably destroyed that trust with her unforgivable carelessness, she simply would not embarrass him further by falling completely apart.

She inhaled silently and held his gaze, trying to communicate both that she understood what he expected from her now as well as just how sorry she was to have done this. She willed her features to reflect the same cavalier visage as his own and scarcely recognized her voice as she replied to Rupert with an offhandedness she never knew she possessed, "Oh? Didn't I tell you about Galahad? I was so sure that I had."

She was only vaguely aware of the round of chuckles and laughs from the assembled parliamentarians as the room slowly came out of its shock induced paralysis and became animated once more. She focused solely on Rupert's face and when a small smile curved his lips and the sharpness in his eyes relaxed, she felt the vice grip of mortification around her ribcage loosen slightly, enough to offer him a timid smile of her own. She knew he must be furious at her but with her eleventh hour composure, at least they might get through dinner.

She exhaled and drew her gaze away from him and addressed the rest of the room. She had no idea of what to say, but decided to just voice the most truthful thing she could. She shook her head deprecatingly and placed a hand over her throat, "I…am so sorry. I cannot apologize enough for this."

A chorus of 'Not at all', 'Please don't fret', 'Could've happened to anyone' among other soothing platitudes floated about the room as the head butler apologized profusely to her, falling all over himself to assure her that the suit of armor was notoriously fragile ever since it had been dropped when originally placed in the dining room. He fussed and fretted over her wellbeing asking time and again if she'd been hurt. She assured him and everyone else that she was fine, apologized to him personally for good measure as _he _proceeded to beg forgiveness from everyone for not having removed the suit of armor before something like this happened.

Another round of apologies was mercifully cut short as the wife of a prominent parliament member graciously regaled everyone with the story of how she had managed, many years ago, to drop an eight-hundred year old sculpture that was on loan to the Italian embassy, shattering it to bits.

As everyone enjoyed the amusing anecdote, staff was busy in the background removing all evidence of Clarisse's blunder and resetting the table for dinner in what seemed like an instant. As she took her seat, Clarisse ventured a sidelong look at Rupert, just to test the waters of his mood, but found no outward sign of anger or even annoyance. He simply rested his warm hand over hers for a brief instant and winked at her.

She silently mouthed the words, "I am so sorry." He shook his head briefly with a smile that seemed to say 'think nothing of it' and gave her hand another squeeze. She certainly appreciated his attempt to make her feel better, but she could only imagine the level of disappointment he must be feeling. Knowing he could feel no other way made his reassuring 'everything is fine' gesture that much harder to take.

She didn't know how she could, possibly, but she did have a dinner to sit through. She tried to bolster herself by looking at it as a chance to maybe salvage some of her reputation. She raised her eyes to the rest of the dinner guests and relaxed a bit as they seemed to have moved past the single most embarrassing thing she'd ever done. They all seemed firmly ensconced in the uninspiring cocktail party chatter that Rupert had promised would be the most trying part of this evening, but right at this moment was extremely comforting in its sheer banality.

Clarisse's eyes shifted and found Sara looking at her. Eye contact achieved, Sara smiled widely looking on the verge of laughing out loud and raised her glass a touch. Clarisse couldn't help but grin slightly and humbly roll her eyes at Sara's obvious glee at having company in the public embarrassment club. The vise of tension in her body loosened even more when her eyes slid to Sara's right and found Etienne who simply smiled at her and shrugged amiably.

As at the family dinner, His Majesty sat at the head of the table. Clarisse was directly to his right and feeling slightly better, she peeked over at him. She couldn't describe the relief she felt when she saw that he wasn't stewing about what she'd done, or God forbid, apologizing for what she'd done, but simply chatting with the man to his left wearing a decidedly bored expression. When his salad was served, he turned his head and caught her looking at him. He gazed at her for a short moment before adopting a serious expression and raising his chin slightly. When she mimicked his movements to assure him that she was indeed, bucking up, he nodded his head once decisively.

She exhaled most of her remaining anxiety, convinced she might be able to eat this evening and concentrated on her salad, all the while extravagantly avoiding looking at the other end of the table. She knew she would have to eventually, but simply wasn't up to it at the moment; not while her hands still had a trace of the shakes. She vowed to herself that after her salad and one sip of wine, she would face the music.

With the passage of a few moments, and a sip of that wine, she did begin to feel a bit hardier. She even had a very nice conversation with Lord Chevers, sitting across from her, that only briefly touched upon her bungle. She finally felt she'd girded her loins enough to meet the gaze of Her Majesty, Katherine Renaldi, Queen of Genovia.

She calmly raised her eyes…and came to find that she could have drunk an entire cellar full of wine and it wouldn't have helped.

The Queen must have simply been waiting for Clarisse to find the nerve because Katherine was already looking at her when Clarisse raised her head. Strangely, Clarisse found no fury on the Queen's face, no simmering humiliation, not even disdain. Her face was distinctly expressionless. At first, Clarisse's heart soared at the lack of anger from Her Majesty, and actually managed to offer her the smallest of smiles; a smile the Queen did not return or acknowledge in any way whatsoever. It slowly became obvious to Clarisse that Katherine's rather bland expression was not indicative of a 'these things happen' attitude, but something else; the longer the Queen looked at her with that unchanging expression, the clearer the meaning became to Clarisse.

Resignation. It was resignation; as if Her Majesty had known something just like this would happen all along. Clarisse was as stunned as anyone that she'd done such a stupid and clumsy thing, but apparently the Queen wasn't surprised in the least.

Clarisse dropped her eyes, her face once again red with shame, tears threatening to fall. A deep and suffocating sadness washed over her. She'd never felt so small and inadequate in her life. It was bad enough to think that she'd disappointed the Queen, fallen far short of her expectations or destroyed any faith the woman had in her…but to see she hadn't had any faith in her in the first place...it was a crippling blow.

Made even more so by Clarisse's certainty that the Queen would never, ever forget this moment. No matter what else Clarisse did, no matter how long The Queen might know her, as a daughter in law or not, this night would leap to Her Majesty's mind whenever she thought of her. This moment that would be neither forgotten nor forgiven.

Clarisse slowly became aware that His Majesty was direction a question toward her, blessedly about horses and not something a more taxing. She cleared her throat and planted a gentle smile on her face that belied her heavy urge to run and cry like a child somewhere. She brutally turned off the fretful, whiny voice in her head that moaned relentlessly that she'd ruined everything and stubbornly vowed that she would get through her first, and probably last, royal dinner party with no more blows to her, or anyone else's, dignity.

TBC...have faith!


	31. Ties That Bind

Hello all

Well…for those who thought I fell off the face of the earth, you can call off the search. I wish I could tell you I've been off on an African safari or something equally exotic, but frankly, it's just been plain old life that's gotten in the way of my writing time.

What matters is that I'm still here, still writing Fondness and actually have a new chapter for all of you inordinately loyal readers.

As a reminder to where we are in this story, Clarisse has just knocked over the famed suit of armor and her crisis of confidence has come to a head, her insecurities bubbling to the surface with a vengeance.

I know it won't be worth over two months of waiting, but I hope you like it anyway.

--

"Well, tonight was a smashing success." Rupert announced as he took his seat in the limo and immediately began loosening his tie. He smiled brightly at Clarisse, "Literally!"

His words, the first privately spoken between them since sitting down to dinner, shattered the wall of composure Clarisse had erected over the course of the evening and she burst forth with a hyperventilated apology, "Rupert, I'm so sorry. I…don't know what to say about what happened tonight. I'm just so sorry."

Rupert's mood changed from amused to mildly startled at the sound of the strain in her voice. He'd expected an irritated swat and perhaps a 'Stop it! It wasn't funny' to his good natured ribbing about her very loud faux-pas, but when he leaned over to read her down-turned face he was surprised to see her close to tears.

He immediately rested a hand on her arm and with real concern tried to reassure her, "Oh, Clarisse, no! I was just joking." He laughed quietly and sheepishly tried to catch her eye, "I was only joking, I promise."

She swallowed hard, completely at a loss, "I…I just…I don't know what happened. I've never done anything like that. I'm not usually so clumsy. Honestly."

He gently squeezed her arm and tried to get her to look at him, "Clarisse, really, it's not–"

"I would give anything to be able to take it back. I would never want to do anything to…put you in such an embarrassing light…" The words poured out of her so quickly she didn't seem to register that Rupert had said anything at all. She paused only long enough to steal a furtive glance at him before blurting harshly, "You must be absolutely _furious_ with me!"

He shook his head at the desperately sad look in her eyes, wanting to kick himself for teasing her and muttered to himself, "Oh, no, no, no, no."

He looked in her face, her lips pursed so hard they were almost white, clearly trying not to cry. Perhaps he should have anticipated Clarisse taking her mishap this evening so hard, but even if he had he never would have thought she'd worry about his actually being _angry_ with her. He was rather surprised that she didn't seem to know him better than that but, then again, she did take things very seriously.

He took a deep breath and turned to face her fully, intent on clarifying things once and for all, "Clarisse, you couldn't be more wrong. I am not angry, not in the least."

She looked at him wearily and shook her head, "Oh, Rupert, how could you not be? I didn't even make it through the door without causing a catastrophe."

He sighed with a good-natured smile, "Well, I think 'catastrophe' is a bit of an overstatement, Clarisse. I mean, it was unfortunate, of course…but then most accidents are." He shrugged philosophically, "That's why we call them accidents, darling."

She inhaled and murmured faintly, "No, it was more than that. It's…me."

He frowned in confusion, "I don't know what you mean."

She took a breath and tried to explain, restlessly wringing her hands, "I think…I'm in over head, perhaps. I don't think I have the proper…feel for this – for your world, your public life. I don't have the instincts…"

If he was surprised by how upset she still was about what happened, he was absolutely shocked by the sweeping conclusions she was drawing from it. He hesitated, unsure of how to answer her far-flung worries. He did want to take them seriously because she clearly did, but he was having a real time of it. Frankly, that she would attach so much significance to this silly mistake was…ridiculous as far as he was concerned, but there was no denying how genuinely upset Clarisse was.

He offered softly, "Well…I do think you're overreacting, Clarisse. I mean, you were spot on at the polo match. That was a much more high-visibility situation than tonight and you sailed through without a hitch; mingling and talking, not to mention charming, all manner of public figures; in front of hundreds of reporters and photographers, no less. Your instincts served you very well."

She stared out the window, "That was…good luck. Not to mention all the help I got from Marcel, Sara…you."

He asked with gentle reasonableness, "Why wasn't tonight just 'bad' luck?"

She sighed and tried to keep the tears from showing in her eyes. She wanted to explain, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. It was enough that he know she was aware that she wasn't up to the job. The details didn't matter; and more importantly she couldn't withstand hearing herself explaining them out loud.

She deliberately ignored his question and exhaled, trying to redirect her focus to a more pragmatic, productive line of talk. She managed to sound more composed when she finally turned to face him, "I don't know…if it's too late…but I think you should reconsider your decision…"

He was momentarily confused by what she was trying to say, when it suddenly dawned on him the 'decision' she meant. His face changed from slight puzzlement to all out astonishment at the crazy notions evidently running through her mind. He collapsed back in his seat, and exclaimed in disbelief, "Clarisse, that's preposterous! How could you even think that?"

She swallowed and calmly shook her head, "It's not preposterous, and it is fixable. It might be…difficult, but not impossible to extricate ourselves from…our understanding."

He raised his hands as if to slow down the madness, "Clarisse, for heaven's sake…"

She stubbornly pushed on, "We've not announced any engagement plans, or even spoken publicly about our future. The people will be disappointed to hear that we've ended our relationship but it can be handled. Marcel would be able to frame the news such that …"

Rupert sat listening to her calmly detail how easily they could dismantle all they'd brought together to this point when his frustration suddenly bubbled over. He interrupted her with a press of the intercom button and a terse command to the driver, "Stop the car."

Clarisse's mouth dropped open and her eyes grew wide, for a fleeting instant actually believing he meant to leave her by the side of the road. A moment's consideration told her that he would never, but she was literally unable to think of what he did intend. She heard the same surprise and confusion emanating back over the intercom in the voice of the driver as he asked tentatively, "Sir?"

Rupert's impulse had been to get out of the car right then and there to thrash things out with Clarisse, but even as upset as he was, he knew that David would simply never let the two of them loiter about the shoulder of Highway 88 having a private chat.

Rupert relented but his voice was short, "Once inside the gates, let us off at the path near the fountain. We'll walk to the palace."

There was a momentary pause before David decided this was not a fight he could win, "Yes, Your Highness."

Clarisse sat still and silent – her only real strategy when faced with someone who was fuming. And Rupert was fuming. She cast a very cautious look at him; his face was turned away from her, staring intensely out the window but she could feel the frustration radiating from him. She wanted to say something to smooth things over but didn't want to risk angering him further. She'd never even seen him angry before, let alone _made_ him angry. She sighed inwardly, the recently all too familiar feeling of having unknowingly wandered off course into the middle of nowhere slowly invading her brain like smoke. She absently wondered how many more ways she would make this evening a disaster.

As the relatively short ride to the palace took on an interminable feel under the oppressive silence and palpable tension, Clarisse held out weak hope that Rupert would reconsider his apparent plan of taking her somewhere private so that he could yell at her, but true to his word, as they passed the gates he hit the intercom. "This is fine, stop here."

Even under such odd circumstances, palace staff was ever protocol conscious and thus the driver and security guard dutifully held open Rupert's and Clarisse's respective doors for them. Devotion to job performance aside, the two men couldn't quite hide their confusion as they threw one another significant looks across the roof of the car before getting back in and making their way up the driveway.

Etienne and Sara's limo crept past them and Clarisse turned her face away slightly, saying a silent prayer of thanks that Their Majesties' car had been leading the parade of three and was already approaching the palace's main entrance. At least she was spared the humiliation of the Queen's eyes peering out at her at this awful moment.

Rupert straightened out his jacket and without really looking at her, walked over and held out his arm. Reflexively, she took it and walked with him as he led her down the path that would eventually end at the back of the palace.

She walked obediently beside him, waiting, but he remained quiet. She looked sidelong at him and although he seemed composed, he still wore a deeply serious, almost angry expression on his face. They walked in tense silence until they came to a place where the trees to their left obscured the view of the palace and, presumably the reason for stopping here, the view of the path from the palace. He let go her arm and paced a short distance away, his back to her.

She'd resolved to wait for him to speak first but at the sight of him stalking restlessly around in a circle she suddenly blurted, "Rupert, I'm sorry."

He stopped walking and turned to face her for a moment. His brow furrowed as he asked with quiet intensity, "What, exactly, are you sorry for, Clarisse?"

She hesitated slightly at his question and the directness of it. Honestly, she was unsure of exactly why she was sorry. She didn't know precisely what she'd said that had so irritated him but it was quite obvious that she had. Having no other answer, she stated simply and quietly, "For upsetting you."

He sighed in annoyed resignation; not the answer he was hoping for, but an answer he should have expected. God love her, Clarisse could be so damned… He cut off that thought immediately. Every word his mind conjured to finish that sentence was one his mother had used to describe Clarisse and having his mother in his head at this particular moment was…not helpful, to say the least.

He turned away and paced around the small clearing, trying to make sense of Clarisse, who he thought he'd gotten to know rather well. Not so, apparently. He felt like he'd fallen into a black hole. He'd never seen this negative, insecure side of Clarisse that once it had been given a little slack, had completely overwhelmed her usual common sense. Everything she'd said tonight sounded so ludicrous to his ears that he couldn't believe he actually had to mount an argument to it. 'Extricate' themselves from their 'understanding' because of some silly blunder at a pointless dinner party? Insanity. Nonsense. An overreaction so huge that it belonged in the record books – but she was apparently dead serious.

He faced her once more and shook his head slowly as she stood patiently waiting for him, stubbornly _not_ coming to her senses and seeing the ridiculousness of her deeply flawed reasoning. Finally, his mind seized on the one and only thing that made even a whit of sense. Foolish – not to mention humiliating – though it was, it was the only explanation he could even begin to understand.

He frowned and inhaled deeply, "Clarisse, if you've changed your mind about entering into public life or assuming the throne…" He paused and dropped his eyes to the ground, forcing himself through almost clenched teeth to continue his thought, "…or if you've had second thoughts about becoming my wife….please just tell me outright." He looked up at her, his voice barely hiding his upset, "Because using what happened tonight as some sort of 'exit strategy' is not….softening a blow, if that's what you think."

It was now Clarisse who looked slightly blindsided. She furrowed her brow and shook her head, "No, no, that's not what I'm saying at all."

He threw up his hands, exasperation exploding out of him, "Well, then what _is _this all about, Clarisse? You can't possibly be standing there with a straight face proposing we simply walk away from everything we've built over the last few months because of tonight!"

He offered only a rhetorical pause before resuming his restless pacing, "Because, if you are, I have to say that I find that more than a little insulting, Clarisse. I'm insulted that you would be willing to do it, and insulted that you think I would find 'ending' things a suitable response to what happened."

He faced her once more and paused to gaze at her with a mixture of sadness, anger, offense and hurt. When he did finally speak, his voice was low and serious, "You must think very little of me, Clarisse."

She blinked in shock at his assertion, finding her voice, "What? Rupert, you know that's not true…"

He huffed loudly, "It must be true, Clarisse! I mean, honestly, I wouldn't be much of a friend, or a husband – or a person for that matter – if I blithely threw you out of my life because you made one mistake, would I? Yet, you seem to think I'd do just that without a second thought; just walk away from you without a backward glance as if it made no never-mind to me one way or the other. Do you honestly think that that's who I am? Someone so unreasonable that I would subject you to an existence so insecure that at any instant I might simply discard you?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head at how much he'd misunderstood her and pleaded, "Rupert, please, just let me…"

He walked up to her slowly and looked down in her face, seeming to mull something over. He murmured grimly, "Then again, perhaps, that's something _I _need toworry about."

His words stopped her and her confusion deepened, "What is? What do you mean?"

He inhaled and explained with a frown, "Well, here we are, Clarisse, at our first bump in the road – and not much of one, at that – and you are ready to abandon the commitments you've made; to the Monarchy, to the Genovian people…to me."

She said nothing, but her wide eyes and perplexed expression told him he had her full attention. He cleared his throat with mild self-consciousness trying to gather his dignity, "My personal stake in this aside, Clarisse…it doesn't bode well that a woman asked to help lead a nation of people would so blithely and selfishly walk away from them."

She blinked at him, never anticipating that he would see things this way, never intending that he would. She breathed out and absorbed his words, trying to take advantage of his having slowed down for a moment. She couldn't quite look into his face but she felt him staring hard at her.

She began tentatively, "That's not my intention. That's not what I'm doing. I'm…"

He immediately cut her off, "Yes, it is Clarisse."

She never did well when embroiled in hectic, fast paced arguments but very much wanted to answer his accusations, make him see exactly what it was she was saying. The shakiness in her voice started smoothing itself out as she defended herself, "No, it's not! I'm simply trying to do what's right; for Genovia and for you. I don't want to be the cause of damage to your reputation…"

He waved his hand, having heard enough, "That's all very well and good Clarisse, but what's best for me and Genovia is someone at my side that I can rely on. I need a wife and Queen, not a martyr to the cause."

She stared at him, her mouth parting of it's own accord as the sting of his words slowly made itself felt. She didn't even try to hide the hurt she knew was in her eyes. Of all the things he could have called her…a 'martyr' cut painfully deep. That he would _so_ misunderstand her, be _so_ dismissive of what was the most humbling thing she'd ever had to admit…it was actually galling that he thought she would be self-indulgent and self-pitying over something as important as this.

She stared hard into his face for a moment gathering her temper before speaking in a firm steady voice, "I am not…being…a martyr, Rupert."

She paused to exhale some of her own frustration before continuing strongly, "I am doing what it is my _responsibility_ to do as the woman asked to fulfill this role. Part of that responsibility is to recognize what best serves you and the country, even to my own detriment. I'm not so fragile or egotistical a person as to ignore my shortcomings, no matter how difficult it may be to do so. And for you to be so blithely dismiss my attempts to do just that is what is _really_ insulting, Rupert."

He said nothing in response to her declaration, finding himself slightly cowed by her words. In the midst of his own fit of temper he managed to get her ire up, but as livid as he'd been and as aggravated as he still was, it heartened him to see her fight with him. She'd been so defeated and weak up to this point, any kind of life in her eyes – even daggers being thrown his way – was a good sign.

She dropped her eyes from his and put as much self-respect in her voice as she could, "I've been wrestling with this for some time now and it's not easy for me to admit…" she raised her eyes once more and concluded, "…but I just don't think I'm capable of doing what you need me to do. "

Her statement hung in the air for a moment, Clarisse seeming to have meant it to be her personal coda to their months-long 'understanding'. The air of finality that permeated the space between them was unceremoniously pierced when Rupert stated with almost harsh bluntness, "Because you knocked over a suit of armor?"

She closed her eyes briefly at the knife-like feeling his frank and unadorned assessment of things brought back to her before clarifying slowly, "Because I was put in a pressure filled situation that I would find myself in time and time again if I were to be your wife, and I failed. I let the pressure get the better of me and I didn't perform the way…."

Rupert gave a brusque shake of his head and interrupted her flatly, "No, Clarisse. You knocked over a suit of armor."

The silence that followed was a strange one as he waited for her to refute his point and she waited for him to elaborate on it. Rupert didn't wait long to drive home precisely how small a thing it was they'd been grappling over, "That's all that happened, Clarisse. Your dress caught on the edge of a shaky suit of armor and it fell over."

He narrowed his eyes and peered intensely at her, willing his words to break through her mule-headedness, "It could have happened to anyone. It could have happened forty years into a blemish-free reign as Queen. If you'd walked in on my left arm rather than my right, it wouldn't have happened at all." He enunciated forcefully, "It _means_ nothing."

Rupert waited and watched her face closely as she visibly struggled with herself. Her brow was doubtful as she inhaled and exhaled slowly. The one good sign was that her eyes never left his. She at least _seemed_ to be hearing him.

With quiet firmness, he stated, "Clarisse – nothing."

She sighed deeply, looking more like she was running out of steam than convinced he was right. He shook his head, exasperation and concern mixing in his voice, "Clarisse, what in God's name is this all about? This just _isn't_ you. Tell me what's going on."

Defeat and resignation seemed to hang about her as she visibly slumped, "I don't know. I don't know!" She shook her head forlornly, as confused as he was, "I just want to do what's best, what's right for everyone…" her frustration leaped from her mouth as she turned and paced in her own small circle, "…I just don't seem to know what that _is_ anymore!" she turned back to him animatedly, "I used to know! But not anymore…"

Her face took on a peeved, annoyed look as she stared into the distance of the night and hissed under her breath, "_Vanessa_."

The bafflement returned to Rupert's face, "What?"

Her eyes flickered to his in embarrassment and she repeated herself miserably, "Vanessa."

He frowned and tried to tie the pieces together, "What….Vanessa? Did she say something? Or…are you…don't tell me you're comparing yourself to her…unfavorably?"

She sighed, "No, no. Nothing like that." She rolled her eyes at herself, wondering when it was that her heretofore healthy emotional outlook had dissolved into an unstable mess. Now that she'd started down this path, the mere idea of trying to explain the muddle her mind had become made her squirm.

Rupert didn't know what she was talking about, but could see there was a great deal going on behind her sad eyes. Sensing she needed him to, he closed the physical distance that had existed between them since they'd stopped walking and he came to stand in front of her. He asked softly, "Clarisse, what is it?"

Feeling deeply foolish, not to mention exhausted, but vulnerable to the warmth in his voice telling her that he _did _want to help, she took a deep breath and told him …everything. She impetuously blurted out everything she'd vowed to shoulder alone and with enviable aplomb. She told him just much she had wanted to be able to handle everything that had been thrown at her but how distant she was starting to feel from everyone and everything she knew and loved – her parents, Natalie, even Rupert himself – as her life became more and more public.

School, which had been the center of her life _all_ her life, was now not only unnecessary but absolutely hopeless, even if she wanted to continue her studies. She couldn't just 'see' anyone anymore – it was a logistical nightmare just to pay a visit to someone's house. The only people she was able to be around the way she used to be were her parents, but she couldn't talk to them about what she was going through because her mother only saw the good side of all this change and her father was still so ambivalent about her new life that if Clarisse let on that things were getting difficult for her, she knew it would make _his_ life that much more miserable.

What was even worse, the absolute worst, was that the one thing she thought she would never be without had changed along with everything else. It was the most natural thing in the world for her to talk to Natalie, but when she did try it was painfully obvious how different their lives were now. So much so that seeing Nat made her feel lonelier and more isolated than if she didn't see her at all.

All of that, she told Rupert, would have been manageable – heartbreaking, but manageable. After all, great responsibility came with great sacrifice. She knew that, she understood that and as grueling as it might be, she honestly thought, in time, she could make her new life work even with some painful losses….but then she went to that damn dress fitting.

With the polite but clearly confused raise of Rupert's eyebrows and a vast wave of tired resignation taking the edge off her embarrassment, she dully told him of the scene with Vanessa. She told him how this girl she'd, for years, unquestioningly thought of as a friend – an ally - had unceremoniously and spitefully disabused her of _that_ particular notion, unwittingly – or maybe quite wittingly – throwing Clarisse's trust in her own judgment into complete and crippling doubt.

Her torrent of words slowly petered out and came to a quiet end. Rupert regarded her for a long moment as she stood in front of him, her fingers limply laced together in front of her, her eyes vaguely staring at a spot on the brick pathway; everything about her demeanor saying that she was spent and tired and defeated – as if at his mercy now that she'd confessed the ugly truth that she wasn't the thoroughly unruffled person she wanted him to believe she was. There were so many things that he could say to her, and should say to her; there was, however, one question that had pounded in his head throughout her entire monologue.

He wasn't quite able to keep the reproach, quiet though it was, out of his voice as he shook his head slowly and asked, "Clarisse…why didn't you tell me about all this?"

She made a vaguely annoyed sound and rolled her eyes, still not looking at him, "Because it's so silly!"

He furrowed his brow, "It's obviously not silly; not if it's gotten you this upset."

She sighed disgustedly at herself, "I feel so stupid telling you all this. Even now – even after making an ass of myself at dinner tonight!" She shook her head grimly, "I don't know what's the matter with me? I feel like such a child."

"Lamenting the loss of a friendship, or being upset at mistakenly putting your faith in one…those aren't the reactions of a child, Clarisse. You and Vanessa had a nasty falling out and you're upset about it – that makes you human. That's all." He concluded, "Especially considering that this falling sounds like it has more to do with Vanessa and her fragile ego than anything really to do with you." He peered at her closely, "You must know that. You don't need me to tell you that, do you?"

She remained quiet and still for a moment, looking as if she didn't want to admit it but finally conceding quietly, "No, you don't have to tell me that." She murmured, "Natalie said as much, too."

He smiled a small smile, "Well, it doesn't seem as if your friendship with Natalie has changed _too_ dramatically; at least on her part, if she still feels comfortable being so direct with you. And I think it says something about the 'instincts' you're so worried about that you've chosen to surround yourself with two such sound and reasonable people as Natalie and myself."

She looked into his face quickly and he cocked a slightly smug eyebrow at her. She begrudgingly offered a small, albeit sarcastic, smile at his words. Nonetheless she drove home her point, "It's not so much that I don't understand how Vanessa and I came to this…what scares me is that I didn't see it coming." She shook her head at him slowly as if in wonder, her voice urgent with the repercussions, "I had no idea. My judgment was _that_ bloody…_bad… _and I had no idea."

Any hope she had that he was empathetic vanished when he shrugged vaguely and said simply, "It happens."

She stared at him incredulously for a moment before dejectedly turning away, "Oh, nevermind. You don't understand."

"Understand what?"

She turned back toward him, "The…the…implications; what that means!"

He shook his head, arms akimbo, "All it means, Clarisse, is that you're not psychic."

He watched her crossed her arms and give a frustrated sigh but continued resolutely, "Vanessa's a smart and savvy girl who was deft at hiding her hostility from you. You're not responsible for that. So, no, Clarisse, I don't think that because your lifelong friend betrayed the trust you put in her means that you're judgment is fatally flawed and precludes you from carrying on with your life." He finished forcefully, "Clairvoyance is not a requisite for being Queen, you know."

She was watching him from under furrowed brows, looking as if she was trying to gauge if he was being honest with her or just making fun of her. Maybe a little of both. What he said, and how he said it, certainly gave her pause. He seemed to make everything sound so much less…drastic; so much more mundane. Mundane was not a word that usually held such promising connotations for her but in this instance, it sounded completely comforting.

He sighed ruefully at her silence, "My Lord, Clarisse. If these are the standards you're trying to live up to, I can't imagine what you expect of me. I can tell you right now I plan to fall far short of _this_ level of competence. I mean, here you stand utterly disappointed with yourself because you haven't mastered the role of Queen after a few months…I was _born_ to be King and still have no idea how I'm going to go about it when the time comes."

She shook her head with a frown but a small smile, "No. You'll be wonderful…"

He didn't smile back, "And if I'm not…are you simply going to leave? Banish me from your life?"

Her smile faded at the point he was making. Suddenly all that she'd said earlier to him about rethinking his decision seemed not helpful, but hurtful. Another judgment call she wished she could take back and make again. She whispered contritely, "No, Rupert, of course not. I wouldn't leave."

"Are you sure? I mean, if I truly was a failure as a King…"

She frowned, the very idea never seeming ludicrous to her ears, "You wouldn't be, Rupert. I would help you. In any way that I could, I would help. You know that."

He nodded slowly with a quick raise of his eyebrows, "Hmmm. That's what _I _would have done if you had let me."

She had nothing to say to that. She tried to summon something, but she eventually just dropped her eyes from his steady gaze; out of shame, gratitude, sadness, exhaustion – she didn't know. Her lip quivered and was only able to whisper, "Oh, Rupert…"

Rupert debated whether to say something more but thought better of it and let her be. He knew her well enough to know that she was struggling mightily to collect herself and, as predictably as the rise of the sun, after a brief moment she drew in a deep breath and looked him in the eye. She exhaled smoothly, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

He watched her struggle very hard to be the settled Clarisse she'd let him grow accustomed to knowing; the settled Clarisse she very much wanted to be. She almost achieved it, but not quite. The unfamiliar doubt that had so unnerved her was swimming behind in her eyes; he could see it.

He smiled sympathetically and moved to gather her in a hug, grateful that she accepted it without hesitation. After a moment, he sighed with a mixture of resignation and understanding, "Oh, Clarisse…it must be so difficult to be you sometimes."

She laughed briefly, but didn't argue with him. She seemed content to remain there and he simply held her close.

After a time, he rested his chin on her head and mused quietly, "You know, I didn't ask you to marry me because I thought you already knew how to be Queen, Clarisse. And I wasn't joking when I said I don't know how to do this job any better than you do. I just believed that you would one day be a cherished Queen to this country. And that you, more than anyone I've met in my life, could help me be a better King than I would ever be on my own. I believe that more strongly the longer I know you."

He leaned back slowly and gazed at her, happy to see a small smile on her slightly weary face. He smiled back but his voice was serious, "But none of that will happen if you don't talk to me." He shook his head slowly, "You _have_ to let me help you."

She said nothing as her smile faded and he searched her eyes for signs of resentment or resistance, both of which he expected to find at the thought that she would have to rely on him, but the slow nod she gave to him said she'd begun to make peace with that truth.

He smiled a genuine smile, feeling a bit more optimistic. "All of these things that have been weighing on you…they all sound like workable problems to me. I mean, as far as your friends are concerned, when we get engaged you'll have a dedicated security detail and a staff to help pave the way for you to see whomever you want, whenever you want; with much less fuss than you're dealing with now. Until then, you can feel free to have them to the palace. Hell, put them up at the palace if you like.

"And if you want to finish your studies, we'll talk to the University and work out a way for you to complete your work without having to actually sit in class. We'll hire a tutor to recreate each class here at the palace, if necessary. There's always a way, Clarisse. I'm sure the university will be delighted to claim that the future Queen of Genovia is a graduate of their fine institution."

His heart loosened even more when she smiled at that last. He inhaled, "As for your parents…well, I don't honestly know how to help you there." He offered, "I'm here if you want to complain about them, though."

She murmured as her smile grew, "Well, that _is_ comforting."

"See how much help I can be?" She nodded good-naturedly but he grew more serious as he voiced what weighed on his mind since she'd suggested he 'rethink' his decision, "That's the only way we're going to succeed, Clarisse; if we're able rely on each other. It's the only way we can run the country as King and Queen…it's the only way we be happy as man and wife. At least, for me"

He explained quietly, his eyes dropping from hers, "I know this particular marriage comes with its own unique aspects, good and bad…" He trailed off for a moment, but raised his eyes and looked at her steadily, "…but at the end of each day, Clarisse, after the never-ending battles with parliament, the cat and mouse games with the press, the ranting over conflicting travel schedules and trying to carve out time for our, hopefully, darling children…when all is said and done, it will just be you and me – a husband and wife."

He begged with his eyes for her to understand, "I need that part of my life, more than any other, to be…good; and safe. I need to know that whatever else is happening, that I can always count on what exists between you and me. I want my marriage to be…a haven from everything else." He tilted his head and gazed at her, trying through sheer force of will to convey what he meant, "That's why I asked you to marry me, Clarisse; I know I can have that with you…but it will only work if you think you can have that with me."

Clarisse nodded slowly, concern at his doubt and worry written all over her face, "That's what I want, too. I wouldn't have accepted your proposal otherwise." She sighed, seeing so clearly now how wrong she had been in her thinking, how badly she'd read things over the last few weeks. Suddenly everything seemed so obvious, so easy. "I know exactly what you mean; what you want. I _can _have all that with you, Rupert." She lowered her eyes and shook her head in bafflement at herself, "I should have had more faith in you, I know that." She looked up at him, "You've given me every reason to trust you, Rupert, and…I didn't. I didn't; and I'm sorry for that."

Rupert believed her; he wanted to believe her, yes, but his analytical side told him he should…she wouldn't have bothered to say it at all if she didn't mean it. The ice that had formed around his heart at the idea she could so easily throw everything the two of them could have together began to thaw and he inhaled gently, "So…no more keeping secrets? No more pretending everything is fine when it's not?" He paused only for a second before his humor saved him from his own penchant for cheap sentimentality, "No more threatening to drop me like a bad habit?"

She'd been nodding obediently as he spoke but exhaled a slight chuckle when he finished, "Well…I can't make promises about that last one. I do promise to tell you first if I plan on dropping you like a bad habit; give you a chance to clean up your act."

He chortled gently, "If that's the best I can hope for…"

He tried to read her face but followed his impulse and leaned down and kissed her smiling lips gently but lingeringly, a kiss she returned with more assurance than she had during their first kisses. He inwardly sighed and felt the harsh edges that had so suddenly erupted between the two of them smooth themselves out in that moment.

Clarisse kissed him willingly, gratefully, and knew in her bones that she _did_ trust Rupert; she did have faith in him that he would understand and be good to her if she needed him. She should have already known that and she swore she would never let herself forget it again.

He wrapped her in a hug and she crowded into him and shivered slightly. He briskly rubbed her back, "Yes, it's cold. Let's get back?"

She nodded and curled into his arm that he'd wrapped around her shoulder as they began to walk the rest of the path. She eventually mumbled, "I hope Her Majesty has gone to bed."

He laughed quietly, "I find that in times of stress that it is best not to dwell on my mother. I suggest you do the same".

She raised her eyebrows without any humor, "I'll try."

After a time, they reached the back entrance to the palace and could see Their Majesties and Etienne and Sara lounging with brandy in the study. A worry line immediately formed between Clarisse's eyebrows as she speculated on what they must be discussing. Her spirits began to ebb once again at the thought of facing them – or Katherine, really – with no political dinner in front of them to distract from acknowledging 'the incident'.

Rupert read every bit of the sudden weariness on her face and took her hands, "You know…you don't have to face going home tonight if you don't want. You can stay at the palace."

The firing squad in the study completely forgotten, she looked at Rupert wide-eyed and exhaled a slightly scandalized laugh, "I can't do that!"

He smiled patiently, "I meant that as a perfectly innocent invitation, Clarisse. We have guest rooms, you know."

Slightly flustered, she huffed, "I know that, but..." She took a breath, "We haven't announced our engagement yet, and even then…all it would take is one slightly disloyal staff member and all of Genovia would know, and they would assume …well, you know what they'd assume."

He offered reasonably, "I have friends stay at the palace all the time, Clarisse."

She shook her head, "It's not the same and you know it. Besides, your mother would never allow it. My _father_ would never allow it. He'd want to kill you!"

He teased her, knowing she was right but amused by how seriously she was taking him. He raised his eyes in thought, "Well, you know, there is a way we can avoid all of that…if you don't mind shinnying up the tree outside my suite, that is."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, stop…" She swatted his arm and shook her head wondering how long he'd been making fun of her.

He put up his hand with a smile and defended himself. "I was actually serious, but as soon as I suggested it, I knew it wouldn't work. You're right."

She sighed a smile and stole another glance at the doors leading to the study. He said quietly, "I can call the car for you now…spare you the post-mortem." He gestured with his chin in the direction of the doors.

She was tempted but knew it was no good. She shook her head and raised her chin slightly, "No. I won't be any easier to face them all later."

He said simply, "Whatever you wish." He caught her eye and extended his arm, "Shall we?"

She smiled a smile that said 'here we go' and nodded. As they climbed the stairs he leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Don't worry, I'll protect you."

She turned her face and quickly brushed his lips with hers, believing that he would do just that.

TBC...yes, it's true.


	32. The Announcement, Breakfast

Hello all

I don't know why you people put up with me…

Again, apologies all around for the delay. My little one has given up his nap and now I have approximately 18 minutes a day when I can sit at the computer uninterrupted. I know, I know, you don't want to hear it…

Back to the story: This and the next chapter are a sort of relay race between all the characters – that is to say, one hands off to the next so that by the end you, the reader, have been updated on them all and where their heads are at at this point.

I have no idea if that makes sense, but…what the hell, it's an update, right?

Enjoy!

_**--**_

_**The Genovian Times**_

_**June 23, 1960**_

_**Crown Prince's Betrothal Officially Announced**_

_**Yesterday was an historic day in Genovia as Marcel Royer, representing the nation's royal family, officially announced the long awaited engagement of Crown Prince Rupert to Lady Clarisse Mignionette of Pyrus. Earlier in the morning, His Majesty King Henri had officially announced the betrothal at a full meeting of Parliament, members of which met the young woman at the annual Parliamentary Dinner late last month. **_

_**According to Royer, their majesties are 'absolutely delighted' that Prince Rupert and Lady Clarisse have decided to marry. In his remarks to Parliament, King Henri stated 'he couldn't approve more heartily' of his son's choice of bride and the Queen is reportedly, 'very much looking forward to welcoming Clarisse as a permanent member of the family.' **_

_**The future bride, 19, is a distant descendant of the Renaldi family via her father, Lord Arthur Mignionette, currently Deputy Minister of Agriculture. The Mignionette family has a well-respected history with the Genovian Royal Family on both a professional and personal level. Along with Lord Mignionette's current tenure in service to the Crown, the bride's paternal grandfather, Pierre, occupied the role of Minister of Education until his death in 1946, and the Mignionette name has long held a place on royal family guest lists for all manner of palace celebrations. **_

_**The bride's mother, Lady Vivianne Mignionette, neé Buchanan, is a native of London, England. Her father, Neville, was a well respected English barrister and her mother, Cecilia, is a trained linguist and native Genovian. Lady Vivianne's mother relocated the family to Genovia after the death of her husband in 1934. **_

_**Lord and Lady Mignionette married in April of 1938. **_

_**Through Royer, the Mignionette's stated, 'We are ecstatic that our daughter is marrying Prince Rupert. We know in our hearts he will be both a wonderful husband to Clarisse as well as a superb King to Genovia. We're sure Genovia shares in our excitement for the future.' **_

_**The couple had been keeping their usual low profile in the aftermath of the announcement but in a rare move of expansiveness, the Prince and his fiancé interrupted their after dinner walk around the grounds of the palace and agreed to an impromptu, albeit brief, question and answer session with those among the press corps who remained after the announcement.**_

_**A strikingly attractive couple in person, they painted an interesting contrast as they stood contentedly side by side; he the proverbial tall, dark and handsome man and she tall, fair and lovely. The prince was his typical affable self and Lady Clarisse, soft-spoken and deferential, came across as gracious and likeable.**_

_**Unsurprisingly, the Prince fielded most of the questions, answering with the easy confidence the country has come to recognize as one of his most appealing traits. When asked if his relationship with Lady Clarisse was 'love at first sight' the Prince reacted with mild amusement, "Well, I don't know. I wouldn't want to think we were already at that point; that would certainly make the next fifty-odd years rather boring, wouldn't it? Though it was certainly 'something' at first sight."**_

_**When the Prince looked to Lady Clarisse for confirmation, she added easily, "For me, as well. I've never met someone for whom I had such an immediate…liking and affection." **_

_**That affection was apparent, smiling easily and often as they good-naturedly answered press questions. When Lady Clarisse was asked whether the Prince's proposal was a romantic one, she smiled shyly but with a small chuckle, "Well, it wasn't accompanied with candlelight and roses if that's what you mean by romantic, but, yes, it was a very touching moment." **_

_**Prince Rupert reminded her smoothly, "We were **_**talking **_**about roses at the time. I think that counts."**_

_**She laughed, "Yes, that's true, isn't it? Well, credit where it's due, he is correct – he is, in fact, romantic."**_

_**She seemed slightly flatfooted when asked to explain how His Highness differed in person at their first meeting from the public image she had of him, but made an honest effort to answer. After a long, considering pause, she said, "He was much more…serious than I thought he'd be." There was some light laughter from the gallery, and the Prince as well, before she explained further, "He can come across as somewhat breezy and 'devil-may-care' at times, but in reality he's quite …thoughtful; very kind."**_

_**The final question of the evening came when this reporter asked His Highness if a wedding date had been set. The patented breeziness Lady Clarisse spoke of was on display as answered, "Well, the sooner the better." And cast a wink at Lady Clarisse. Her only response was to blush, though with a game smile.**_

_**News of this engagement has been met with virtually universal joy throughout the country. The Prince's social life has always been a favorite and well worn subject for Genovians, but it truly came to the fore in the months since it was first reported that he and Lady Mignionette were an item. While speculation has raged whether the decidedly placid young woman could tame the spirited ways of the man often labeled the 'Playboy Prince', the prevailing hope among Genovians has been that she would. In polls conducted throughout the country over the course of the couple's courtship, the overwhelming sentiment was that Lady Mignionette and her serene nature would compliment the Prince's outgoing personality, as well as hold her in good stead as their future Queen. **_

'_**She'll make a great Queen' says Alfonse Ripart, a bakery owner from Pyrus, 'The way she's handled all this attention tells me she can handle anything. I trust her.' **_

_**Repeating the sentiment of most people to whom we spoke, schoolteacher Genevieve Purcel from Libet says, 'She'll be good for Prince Rupert – he seems more like a King already.'**_

_**No official date was announced but unnamed sources close to the royal family speculate that the wedding will take place before the end of the year. **_

ooooo

"I told you, didn't I?" Katherine murmured knowingly, resting the morning newspaper on the table next to her untouched breakfast and eying her husband grimly.

Henri looked at her over his cup of tea, not quite sure which, of all the things she'd ever told him, she was talking about right at this moment. He raised his eyebrows questioningly, "Did you?"

Katherine took a deep breath and explained patiently, "I told you how the press would see Clarisse." At Henri's continued blankness she hinted with emphasis, _"'Placid?' 'Serene'_?"

Henri slowly put his cup of tea down and ventured carefully, "If memory serves, you said people would find her…'cold'."

She nodded briskly, "Yes, and she's well on her way down that road. I can hear it now – the clever headline nicknames: 'Placid Princess', 'Serene Sovereign', 'Mild Monarch'." She shook her head dolefully , "You mark my words, Henri, it's only a matter of time before 'Ice Queen' starts making its appears in the editorials."

Henri reached for the paper next to her and opened to the front page, perusing the article regarding his son's engagement. He furrowed his brow skeptically after a moment, "I think you're reaching, Katherine. You are annoyed that the decision Rupert made – against your advice – has not, in fact, blown up in his face." He peered at her over the paper, "A petty way for a mother to feel, yes, but entirely human."

He absorbed her baleful gaze but continued patiently, "Admit it, Katherine. You were wrong. What you thought would come across from Clarisse as 'coldness' has actually come across as humility and composure." Katherine took a deep breath but turned her eyes away from him and he felt safe muttering smugly, "Much as _I _predicted, I might add."

Katherine tks-ed an annoyed sound through her teeth, "It's still very early."

Henri dropped his newspaper and looked at her for a long moment, "Why do you want her not to do well?"

Katherine sighed impatiently, "It's not that I don't _want_ her to do well, it's that I don't think she will." She shook her head dubiously, "I just don't think she will be good for the country, Henri. There has never been a better opportunity for the Queen to make real change in Genovia and as far as I'm concerned, anyone described in one paragraph as both 'placid' _and _'serene' doesn't possess the gumption to do that."

Henri shook his head, "Don't you think she has the country's best interest at heart?"

Katherine raised her hands petulantly, "How should I know? I don't know anything more about the girl now than I did when Rupert brought her to us."

"And you blame Clarisse for that…"

The lack of question in his voice made Katherine look at him suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

He looked at her as if wondering if he really needed to state the obvious. When she merely gazed back at him, he pointed out slowly, "Well, it's not as if you've made this whole journey any easier for her, Katherine."

Incredulous, she raised her voice, "What are you talking about? From the very beginning, more than anyone, _I_ have wanted her to…reveal some of herself…be herself. I've practically begged her to drop the..." she waved her hands vaguely in front of her, "…the wall of calmness and just _speak_, for the love of God."

He observed delicately, "Well, perhaps she would…if you stopped scowling at her."

When Katherine leaped to defend herself he raised his voice forcefully over her protestations, "Now, Katherine, stop!" When she did stop, he reproachfully shook his head, "You are not being fair. You've not given her a real chance. In fact, as far as I'm concerned, you wasted a perfect opportunity to let Clarisse open up to you after her mishap at the parliament dinner."

In Katherine's long and wary silence, he continued more quietly but no less disapprovingly, "You could have taken her aside, comforted her…" He raised his eyebrows significantly, "…shown the girl some empathy."

Her eyes widened slightly and he nodded, "You've been where she was that night, Katherine. You yourself have committed a social faux-pas on what was a very important occasion when all you wanted to do was impress. You knew exactly how she was feeling and you could have drawn her out by letting her know that."

He let his recriminations sink in before finally saying what he'd wanted to for some time but hadn't had an opportunity until now, "When she and Rupert joined us in the study later that evening, you barely looked at her. And when you did, your disregard couldn't have been more withering if you'd simply walked out of the room."

Katherine murmured with muted sarcasm, "I think you're overstating things just a bit, Henri."

"Well…I don't know that I am, but I think a well placed overture from you might have made all the difference in your relationship with her. She might have revealed something to you that would have changed your picture of her…a fighting spirit; a determination to overcome this one clumsy moment and not let it get her down. I mean, after all, that is clearly what she's done. She's regained her footing quite nicely in the last few weeks. Who knows, Katherine, if you'd been a bit more accommodating, she might have let you see her do all of that. Maybe even have credited you with helping her find the 'gumption' to do it."

Her voice was conversational but the defensiveness was obvious, "I would have been happy to help her if she'd given me even the slightest opening to do so."

Henri took a deep breath and raised his newspaper once again, "I think the mistake you're making, Katherine, is that you're assuming she's withholding from you deliberately; begrudging you a chance to give her counsel. Maybe you should consider the notion that she's just a bit shy." He paused for a long moment and peeked out over the newspaper, "Or perhaps – just perhaps – she's frightened of you."

He ducked behind his newspaper before she could say anything and quipped, "Just something to think about, my dear."

Katherine stared at the back page of the newspaper, almost daring him to add one more pearl of wisdom. After a few silent moments, when she was fairly certain he was finished, she conceded slightly, "Well, I suppose that's not an entirely nonsensical theory."

Henri smiled behind his newspaper knowing he must be right on the money for her to admit he wasn't 'entirely nonsensical'. He cleared his throat casually and made a grand show of reading the news.

Katherine watched him, almost suffocating from the smugness emanating from behind the paper. She took a slow, deep breath and mused casually, almost to herself, "Yes, perhaps I'll have a talk with Clarisse – Queen to future Queen. Tell her not to take things so very seriously. One can always recover." She raised her eyes and commented to the back page, "After all, you are a most beloved King…and you've committed some of the worst gaffes this family has ever known."

Henri bent the newspaper in half decisively and scolded, "Now, you just restrict your storytelling to _your_ gaffes. This is supposed to help build a rapport between you and Clarisse. _My_ relationship with the girl is just fine." He smiled, "She already likes _me_."

She contemplated a contentious reply but after a hesitation she nodded in patient defeat, "And who can blame her, darling."

A soft knock on the dining room door interrupted them as the King said, "Come."

A butler bearing a phone stepped quietly in and announced, "Lord Mignionette is calling, your Majesty."

"Ah, he must have just finished reading the Times." He folded his newspaper and motioned for the man to bring the phone. Receiver to his ear, he enthused, "Arthur, how are you doing?" A pause, "Yes, it was a wonderful article. Very flattering, yes."….

ooooo

Arthur hung up the phone and turned to Vivianne with a brisk exhale, "Well, Henri seems to think everything is going swimmingly; right on schedule." He paused momentarily and put his hands in his trouser pockets, "To his mind, the only issues yet to be settled are choosing a wedding date and deciding whether Clarisse should move into the palace during the engagement; to streamline security and minimize unauthorized press contact with her, you know."

Vivianne took a sip of coffee, "And what are his thoughts?"

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck absently, "Well, in a nutshell, he thinks a summer wedding this year is next to impossible and that Clarisse should, in fact, move into the palace." He smiled slightly, "Not too surprisingly, Katherine isn't giving up on an August nuptials and feels that Clarisse most assuredly should _not _move into the palace until she and Rupert are man and wife."

Vivianne raised her eyebrows, "Oh, really."

He nodded with a shrug, "Mmm. I wasn't aware of this but apparently every ruling royal couple has been married during the months of June, July or August. There has never been a 'non-summertime' wedding in the reign of the Renaldi's."

Vivianne seemed slightly surprised at that little bit of royal trivia, "Huh!"

Arthur chuckled and joined her at the breakfast table, "As for the living arrangements, Katherine is concerned about propriety - why give the press something juicy to chew on, that sort of thing." He picked up his cup of tea and blew on it, "Henri doesn't seem to have the same concerns, either with the wedding date or where Clarisse stays, but I have to say that I one-hundred-percent agree with Katherine."

Vivianne frowned slightly, "Well, I certainly don't. First of all, it's already the end of June. Getting a royal wedding up and running for even late August is not nearly enough time, I don't care how efficient the palace is. This is our daughter's wedding and should be given a reasonable amount of time so that the finer points can be tended to." She looked at him imperiously, "The devil is in the details, Arthur, and I don't want anything missed because of some silly calendar restriction; and I'll tell Katherine that, if necessary."

Arthur nodded obediently, having heard variations of the 'devil is in the details' speech before. Vivianne continued somewhat less severely, "As for the living arrangements, I must say I agree with Henri on that front as well. Clarisse should be able to stay at the palace without it being a problem. For heaven's sake, she and Rupert are engaged; not to mention the fact that she spends virtually all of her time with him at the Palace as it is; the only thing she _doesn't_ do at the palace is sleep."

Arthur shrugged casually, reaching for a croissant as Vivianne observed with a worldly shake of her head, "Honestly, in this day and age I'd like to think that most Genovian's are sophisticated enough to realize that what can happen at night can certainly happen during the day."

Arthur's expression didn't change much but his croissant came to a dead stop on it's way to his mouth as he absorbed Vivianne's rather casually delivered assertion, one that had never entered his mind until this very moment. His breakfast was still hanging in mid-air when Clarisse bustled into the room.

"Morning Mum, Morning Dad." She kissed them both hurriedly before sliding into her usual chair and grabbing a slice of toast.

Vivianne smiled, "Morning, Darling. Why in such a hurry?"

Clarisse sighed, "Ugh, I overslept. Natalie's coming to the palace today and I want to be there when she arrives."

Vivianne nodded as she watched Clarisse butter her toast to within an inch of its life, "Ah, yes! The big meeting between the best friend and the boyfriend. Always a watershed moment."

Clarisse chuckled, "Well…yes, I suppose. I'm just excited – and relieved – for them to meet finally."

Vivianne patted her hand, "Well, I'm sure they'll get along like a house afire."

Clarisse nodded pleasantly, "So am I." She murmured thoughtfully to herself as she munched on the corner of her toast, "Though I'm still not sure if it's a good idea to bring Rupert to Nat's wedding." She shook her head at her mother with a baffled smile, "He really seems to want to go."

Vivianne laughed, "Well then I think you should bring him. There's nothing more boring than going to a wedding alone."

Clarisse considered this for a moment before noticing the Times resting next to her father's elbow, "Speaking of weddings…'the announcement' is here?"

Arthur had recovered himself enough to hand his daughter the morning paper, "Oh, yes. In a two inch headline above the fold, of course."

Clarisse cringed slightly, "How subtle. So, how were we received?"

"Beautifully." Arthur smiled warmly, "As if there were any doubt."

Clarisse sighed with a smile as she skimmed the article, "Well, thank God for that."

Vivianne inhaled excitedly, practically clapping her hands, "All that's left is to decide a date, sweetheart!"

"Rupert and I are planning to come to an agreement on that very soon, don't worry." She dropped her paper abruptly and looked at her parents in wonder, "Did you know that every heir apparent has gotten married in the summertime? My Lord."

Arthur mumbled in Vivianne's direction, "There's one more issue to discuss…beyond the date…"

Vivianne waved at him like he was a an annoying gadfly as William, the butler, entered the breakfast room and announced, "Miss Clarisse, your car is here."

Clarisse checked her watch and gave one last bite to her breakfast as she stood up, "Oh, I must run. Thomas is painfully punctual."

Vivianne accepted Clarisse's kiss on her cheek, "Your driver?"

"Yes. One of the perks to finally getting engaged; a palace issued car, complete with driver and security guard. I haven't met the guard yet. I think his name is…Marcus? No, Malcolm! That's it."

She rushed to give her father a quick peck, "Don't wait up. I'll be home late. Rupert and I have a lot to do at the palace today."

As she walked out of the breakfast room, Arthur looked at Vivianne petulantly, "That's the other issue we still need to discuss."

Vivianne rolled her eyes and began re-reading the front page, "Oh, relax, Arthur."

00000

Marcel strode onto the patio, "Your Highness, Miss Mignionette is on the way…" he trailed off when he realized he was not in fact speaking to Prince Rupert, who he expected to find finishing his breakfast in the mid-morning peace of the garden, but Prince Etienne and Duchess Sara.

They looked up and smiled at Marcel as they stretched various limbs in obvious preparation for a morning tennis game. Sara chirped, "Good morning, Marcel."

Marcel bowed slightly to each of them, "I beg your pardon, Ma'am. Sir. I didn't mean to interrupt."

Etienne waved his hand, "You haven't, Marcel. But you've missed Rupert by about five minutes, I'm afraid."

Marcel fretted, "Oh, I do need to catch up with him."

Etienne chortled and asked with slight incredulity, "Malcolm actually radioed their whereabouts then?"

Marcel nodded, returning a smile of his own, "Yes, he did, your Highness. Malcolm is very professional; a good man."

Sara mused sarcastically, "Funny. I don't remember my security man radioing _my_ estimated arrival times to the palace when _we _were engaged, Etienne."

Etienne replied airily as he retied his shoelaces, "Oh, no? Well that must be because I, unlike Rupert, didn't threaten the man's livelihood if he didn't." He looked up and gave his wife a wide smile, "Sorry, darling. An oversight on my part."

Marcel graciously explained, "Prince Rupert does like to be thorough."

Sara laughed heartily, "I think it's hilarious. I never would have predicted him to be such an overprotective suitor."

Marcel cleared his throat, "Well, I think I prefer to stick to 'thorough'…"

Etienne chuckled, "Smart man." He picked up the newspaper that he and Sara had dissected during their breakfast, "Tell me, Marcel, was it your idea to have Rupert and Clarisse stop and talk to the press? A brilliant move, that."

Marcel admitted, "I wish I could take credit for it, but apparently it was his Highness's spur of the moment idea."

Sara shook her head, impressed, "I have to hand it to Rupert, it was a good one."

Marcel nodded his agreement, "Yes, it went over very, very well."

Etienne shook his head in wonder as he reread the press' interview with his brother, "He really was born to be King; has all the instincts for it. Personally, I'd have let the press report that I was a mute before I'd take it upon myself to strike up a conversation with them."

They all chuckled before Marcel checked his watch quickly, "Well, I best to find His Highness. He's probably on his way to the security office to get word on Miss Mignionette's whereabouts…"

Suddenly Katherine glided onto the patio and said grandly, "Ah, yes, I'd like that information as well, if you don't mind, Marcel."

Marcel nearly jumped out of his skin at the unexpected voice of his monarch behind him. However, and as always, his instincts kicked in and he recovered quickly, bowing graciously in the Queen's presence. "Good morning, Your Majesty."

She acknowledged his gesture with a slight nod of assent and waited expectantly, "Clarisse's arrival?"

"Oh, yes. I was informed that she'd be arriving in roughly ten minutes. That was about five minutes ago."

She took a seat at the small breakfast table, "Well, my timing is perfect then. Marcel, could you see that she's directed to me when she arrives."

"Of…course, Your Majesty." Marcel hesitated only long enough to calculate that Her Majesty's request did indeed trump the identical request made by Prince Rupert; he most certainly would direct Clarisse to the Queen first. Perhaps, after the Prince was crowned, Marcel would conclude such dilemma's differently…then again, perhaps not.

Marcel assured the Queen strongly, "I'll see that she is brought directly to the patio."

She smiled extravagantly, "Thank you, Marcel."

As Marcel made his leave, Etienne and Sara exchanged significant glances. The Queen actually seeking out Clarisse's presence was…unexpected. And too priceless to pass up. He cleared his throat casually, "Urgent business with Clarisse, Mother?"

The Queen looked up at him with bland grin, "Urgent? No. Just wanted a word."

"Oh, of course." He nodded but was unsure where to go from here without his simply asking right out what she had in store for poor Clarisse. He looked to Sara for help, who was clearly scanning her brain for a new tack before remembering the most obvious line of conversation to pursue, "You've read the paper this morning, Katherine?"

"Of course." The Queen seemed slightly baffled by the question.

"It was a wonderful announcement, don't you think?"

The Queen nodded slowly, "Yes, yes it was. Very charming."

Etienne tried to keep his voice offhand, "Clarisse, I thought, came off exceptionally well. She'll be extremely popular after today."

The Queen's only response was a vague, "Hmmm." She watched with bemused curiosity as her son and daughter-in-law engaged in a strange game of eyeball tag. They were clearly chomping at the bit to know why she'd asked to see Clarisse but didn't have the courage to ask. She might have been offended they thought her request was so unusual if the two of them weren't so amusing to watch.

She let them stew, making what she knew was infuriatingly unyielding small talk until the inevitable moment arrived. The butler appeared and announced, "Your Majesty, Lady Mignionette."

Katherine rose to intercept a mildly surprised but not unruffled Clarisse. "Ah…how delightful."

"Your Majesty. I was expecting to see only Rupert this morning. What a wonderful surprise." Clarisse entered the garden with a gentle smile and knelt into a curtsey as seamlessly as if it were planned that the first person she would see was the Queen. She had been surprised when Marcel met her at her car and told her that Her Majesty wanted to see her as soon as she arrived, but strangely she wasn't terrified. She didn't know where she got the nerve to be calm, but something about the engagement having become official made her feel …powerful. For the first time she felt as if becoming Rupert's wife and, one day, his Queen was something set in stone, something that couldn't be taken away.

The Queen smiled magnanimously, "I thought I'd steal you for a brief walk, if you're up to it. Unless you haven't had your breakfast yet?"

"No, I ate at home, thank you."

"Brilliant." She motioned to the small stone path that led off of the patio, "Shall we enjoy some of the morning air before things start getting hectic around here?"

"Absolutely."

Etienne and Sara watched the two of them head off to God knew where with undiluted curiosity and fascination. When they'd made their leave, Sara raised her eyebrows at Etienne, "Well, that was unexpected."

Still staring at the now empty pathway, he absently picked up his tennis racket, "To say the least."

It couldn't have been more than one full minute between the Queen and Clarisse's exit to Rupert's hasty arrival to the patio. He stopped abruptly as he took in the decidedly Clarisse-less garden and silently questioned his brother.

Etienne contributed helpfully, "You've just missed her."

He visibly slumped in exasperation and disbelief, "Oh, for heaven's sake…what is mother trying to do to me, give me an ulcer?"

Etienne chuckled, "So, I take it Marcel _has_ caught up with you." Rupert looked as flummoxed as Etienne had seen him in a while so he tried to explain, what little he knew, anyway, "They just took a brief walk, Rupert. Mother said she just wanted a word with Clarisse." He smiled slightly, "Of course, she didn't say _what_ word, but…"

Rupert shook his head and sat down, "I think she just likes to torture me with these curveballs…"

Sara patted him on the shoulder as she reached for her tennis racket, "I'm sure that Katherine will behave herself, Rupert. Besides, Clarisse didn't look the least bit worried."

Etienne nodded, "Not to worry, Rupert. She'll be fine" He inhaled briskly, eager to get off this patio before someone else unexpectedly came rushing in, "Want to come watch us play a bit while you wait for Clarisse?"

Rupert sighed in defeat, checking his watch, "No, thanks. I have some calls to return…and now some time to return them. Besides, Clarisse's friend will be arriving sometime soon. I should be here to greet her in case Clarisse doesn't get back in time."

"Okay, then. We'll see the two of for lunch?"

Rupert replied with resignation, "If Clarisse is still talking to me…"

TBC


	33. The Announcement, Rapprochement

Hello all

Ugh…what a summer.

This is not the lengthy update I'd hoped to post, but it is better than nothing – which I seriously thought was what I'd have to offer any time soon.

By way of an update, it's later the same (impossibly long) day…Katherine has hijacked Clarisse for an impromptu talk in an effort to forge some sort of connection with her.

Sigh…I am trying to work on this story and, if it kills me, I'm going to finish it…someday.

Please enjoy,

--

The two women made a thoroughly regal impression as they walked sedately through the grounds, though resembled one another not at all. Clarisse was cautiously expectant but calm, her hands held in front of her. Her Majesty walked with her hands clasped behind her, looking the way she preferred to look to the outside world; statuesque and intimidating.

As expected, the Queen opened the discussion, "Well, my dear, it seems that your engagement has been given the ultimate stamp of approval; that of the Genovian people. That's enormously important."

Clarisse answered carefully after only the slightest pause, "Yes, thankfully, things seem to have been going rather smoothly of late."

The Queen, her chin raised slightly looking like the particularly commanding prow of a ship, counseled sagely, "The hardest part is over. The engagement means you are now a fixture in the minds of the people; they now see you and Rupert as a fait accompli – the de facto ruling royal couple."

Clarisse merely nodded contemplatively. She thought Her Majesty's theory nicely accounted for the recent lack of anxiety and dread that had begun to hang over her. She did feel as if she were no longer on probation. Her position was secure, her role specific and her own. The pressure to impress was waning and she was focusing more on simply dealing with everyone and everything as they were – unconcerned with the opinions and perceptions of others. It was a liberation feeling and one that allowed her, at this moment, to be comfortable simply waiting for Katherine to make the point she clearly wanted to make.

Katherine took a silent breath and, remembering Henri's observations from earlier this morning, kept her natural brisk and no nonsense conversational style, so in conflict with Clarisse's glacially paced back in forth, in check. She let none of her impatience show; there was no scowling, no withering disregard, no…whatever else it was Henri accused her of inflicting on Clarisse. None of that.

Katherine doggedly continued offering her observations, hoping something might spur Clarisse to express a thought of her own, "Now starts the job of perfecting your public image…polishing the rough edges and letting the best of yourself shine through. You must be to the country not only someone who reflects the best of who they are now, but the image of all they can become…" Katherine's face took on a peacefully exalted look as she lost herself in the moment, "…always remembering that you are the very embodiment of Genovia's distinction for quiet confidence, unyielding strength and unassailable dignity."

Clarisse's only response was a long pause and one very large understatement, "A tall order, indeed."

The Queen nodded somberly, "Yes. Yes, it is."

Clarisse's stillness seemed even quieter than silence, if that was possible. Katherine exhaled through her nose in mild aggravation with herself, Henri's opinion that she might tend to frighten Clarisse occurring to her one moment too late. Perhaps speaking of the girl's legacy to history was not the best way to lay the groundwork for a comfortable and open dialogue between the two.

Wondering if she'd ever got on an even keel with Clarisse, Katherine determinedly readjusted her focus and tried to inject a bit of inviting warmth to her voice as she offered, "I am here, of course, if you ever need any advice. If you need any help."

Clarisse shot a glance at the Queen, who was gazing at faraway spot across the grounds as they walked. To the extent that she had any instincts with regard to Katherine, Clarisse felt that her offer was genuine; or at least a genuine attempt. Clarisse nodded slowly, "Thank you very much. I greatly appreciate that, Your Majesty."

Katherine felt the slightest of openings in Clarisse's remarks and, making an honest, if decidedly awkward feeling effort to forge this relationship with her future daughter in law, the Queen looked at Clarisse for the first time since they began their walk. She stiffly bestowed what she considered a rather grand concession as she dipped her chin a bit and offered, "You may call me Katherine."

Clarisse couldn't help but turn her face more fully to the Queen's for a moment before smiling gracefully, "Thank you, Katherine."

Katherine acknowledged Clarisse's gratitude with a nod and continued more smoothly, "I realize that I've been remiss in not having found a moment for the two us to speak privately about all that you've being going through. I lost sight of my duty to you with the…shall we say, faster than usual pace of your introduction to the world. Things seemed to pile one on top of the other, a bit; the polo match, the press appearances and preparations…of course, the parliament dinner…" She paused and added tactfully, "And by then, I wasn't certain how much you would _want _to sit and discuss things."

Clarisse chuckled ruefully. Her voice low, she admitted, "To be frank, at that point I wouldn't have wanted to talk. About much of anything."

Katherine instinctively seized on the candor she heard from Clarisse and spoke directly of what had been the proverbial 600 pound gorilla in the room since it happened, "Yes, what happened at dinner was very unfortunate."

Clarisse raised her shoulders slightly, finally afforded the opportunity to apologize to the one person she felt it was owed the most. "Katherine, I do apologize for that night. I embarrassed and disappointed you, I'm know. I can only assure you that it was completely out of character and I hope, given time, you will come to see that night for what it was – an aberration."

Katherine nodded slowly, a slight frown on her face as she watched the pathway slowly go by under her feet. The night of the dinner, after the armor hit the floor, Clarisse had looked so crushed and defeated that Katherine had idly wondered if the girl would simply flee, never to be seen at the palace again. And she knew that Clarisse greatly wanted to apologize – to her, specifically – later that evening in the study, but Katherine wouldn't let her; simply couldn't bear to hear it. Frankly, one of the reasons she'd found it so difficult even to look at Clarisse after dinner was because she couldn't abide that kind of emotional fragility – it bespoke a weakness of character; the notion that a single mishap could utterly destroy one's whole self image was something that Katherine just couldn't not respect.

Katherine was convinced that Clarisse's already meek nature combined with her embarrassingly loud blunder would forever cripple her; she doubted if Clarisse would ever recover and that she would be rendered almost paralyzed with the fear of making another mistake – leaving her to do nothing but stand limply on Rupert's arm for the rest of their married life, not only failing to remake the role of Queen into a legitimately powerful one, but in fact reversing the tide that Katherine had tried to turn for all these years.

Katherine had been heartsick over the grim future of the monarchy. The only reason she hadn't tipped over into a feeling of utter hopelessness was that Henri did not see the same bleak future. He ascribed a…pluckiness to Clarisse that left him unworried as to the future of the Crown. Katherine was convinced that she was right in her assessment of Clarisse, but blindly hoped that Henri was…and it seemed perhaps he might be.

At this moment, there was no sign of the trembling insecure mess Katherine had seen at dinner and later in the study. Clarisse spoke with a detached sense of wonder that she had made such a fool of herself – as if it was, indeed, a mysterious anomaly from out of the clear blue; something that surprised Clarisse as much as anyone and something she seemed not in the least worried would happen again.

In fact, talking with Clarisse at the moment, Katherine herself had a hard time imagining such a clumsy moment could happen again.

Katherine nodded imperceptibly and looked over at Clarisse. She smiled and offered genially, "I know it sounds trite to say, but these things happen. To everyone." She smirked slightly to herself, "And I do mean 'everyone.'"

Clarisse glanced curiously over at her and Katherine elaborated slightly, "I assure practically everyone at that dinner table has committed some public gaffe at some point or another." She lowered her voice, but confided with a tinge of humor, "Henri once fell asleep during a parliament session."

"Oh, no!"

Katherine closed her eyes and nodded, "Yes. He actually started snoring. Marcel did a bit groveling, appealing to the press's collective affection for Henri not to report what happened, and thankfully they didn't, but I assure you Henri still turns red at the memory."

Clarisse smiled but managed not to laugh out loud. She'd never laugh again at an embarrassing moment, her own so emblazoned on her mind.

Katherine laughed at another memory, "And Etienne once gave a speech honoring some…obscure but 'politically important' dignitary – you know the type – and I swear to you he must have mispronounced the man's name every single time he said it. He had no idea, just blissfully rolled along mangling his name; completely ruining the man's big moment in the spotlight."

Clarisse bit her lip in sympathy, "Oh, my Lord. He must have felt awful."

Katherine shook her head resignedly, "Yes, you can imagine the pear-baskets that were sent trying to make amends for _that _mistake." She sighed with long suffering resignation, "And of course, I don't need to tell you that Sara's leadership in the category of public mishaps is without rival."

That brought an actual laugh out of Clarisse and Katherine smiled in return. "She's a darling girl, but, my stars…she could manage to cause an embarrassing scene in an empty room."

The two women enjoyed the first not uncomfortable moment between them since they'd met and, after a long hesitation in which she argued vehemently with herself, Katherine inhaled deeply and made her biggest sacrifice to the woman her son was going to marry. With as much dignity as she could she admitted, "Even I have had a cringe-worthy moment in my past."

Absorbing Clarisse's tactful silence and carefully curious expression, Katherine gave a slow, grim nod, "Yes, it's true." Katherine sighed and gave in completely, "Many, many years ago, I…_somehow_ managed to tear the dress of a visiting ambassador's wife. I won't go into the gory details, but suffice it to say, I was mortified. And the woman was rather ungracious about it all, making a point of telling everyone in the room that the lace I had destroyed was well over a hundred years old and handed down from her great-great-great grandmother whose last wish was that it go to her great-great-great granddaughter's daughter for her wedding dress and…oh, I don't know what-all."

Clarisse suddenly felt much better about her own flub and tried mightily to keep the smugness out of her voice as she consoled, "Well, I hope you reminded the ambassador's wife that Genovian lace is most beautiful; more than suitable to repair the damage."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, bolts upon bolts of Genovia's finest lacework was sent in apology. Not that she deserved such bounty…" She offered a majestic smile that Clarisse had seen at many public events and said, "_But_…duty requires much sacrifice. Always remember that."

Clarisse nodded obediently, "Yes, ma'am."

Something had occurred to Clarisse as they meandered about the grounds and she hesitated to ask…but she simply had to know. After a moment, she inquired delicately, "Out of curiosity…Rupert - has he ever had a clumsy moment?"

Katherine frowned and with a vexed shake of her head, exclaimed, "No! And I don't mind admitting, Clarisse, I'm furious about that." She went on animatedly, "You have no idea how infuriating it is that the only blunder free member of the family is my already too-confident first born."

Clarisse chuckled, understanding the sentiment.

Katherine linked her arm through Clarisse and nodded her head conspiratorially, "He's just been lucky so far – I'm sure of that. You mark my words, his time will come."

Clarisse grinned around the surprise that almost escaped her throat when Katherine took her arm and remarked, "Yes, he's long overdue…and every day that passes, the more likely his perfect record will be tarnished."

Katherine chuckled, suddenly feeling much more sanguine about their collective future, exhaled heartily, "Well, we must be getting you back to the palace. Your friend should be arriving shortly and we wouldn't want Henri to be the one to greet her. If she's a horsewoman, you'll never get a minute with her."

TBC


	34. The Announcement, Making Friends

Hey, an update! Bet you didn"t think I'd dare to show my face around here again. Well, I don't quite believe it myself. Yes, I am still working on this story…it has become the monkey on my back.

I'm floored to hear from some of you that you still care whether I update this monster, but am thrilled that you do. Bear with me, my writing muscles are a bit rusty, but they still seem to work. Hopefully, I'll be able to post in a more timely fashion (To say the least!) in the future. Hang in there…

As for where we are in the story…it is later the same day!

Please enjoy-hopefully I'll be back at you soon.

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34

Not too shockingly, Natalie had been sporting a definite, but manageable, case of the butterflies since being picked up by the royal limousine, the tremor of which admittedly increased as the palace came into view. She was officially nervous as she stood waiting for Clarisse in this rather intimidating study filled with centuries-old gewgaws, but it was a familiar kind of nervous; certainly nothing she'd never felt before. Those final moments before her first question at the National Mathematic Olympics Competition that she'd won not long before graduation was something akin to what she was feeling now. She knew that once things got rolling, the nerves would disappear and she would be fine.

Her theory was sound and should have worked, but when she saw through the French doors that the Crown Prince was striding purposefully down the main staircase she felt as if the floor had dropped from beneath her feet.

She felt her mouth gape open ever so slightly as a swimmy disbelief washed over her at the sight of him. She simply could not believe it was him, actually him – in the flesh, whole and breathing – just walking around in real life, just like everyone else. It was so… incongruous that he would be doing that; like coming across a unicorn in your back yard. Yet, there he was, big as life, not merely 'walking around' but apparently making his way toward her.

She shook her head slightly as if that would clear the static, mildly irritated that she was being so silly. After all, we were talking about Prince Rupert here; a man she'd been aware of every single day of her life; she knew him before she knew she knew him. She'd had the clichéd but obligatory crush on him like every other adolescent girl of her generation, she would swear she'd written a paper on him sometime during her scholastic career….for heaven's sake, she probably knew more mundane facts about the Prince than she did her own fiancé. There was absolutely no reason to be stunned by his presence…except for the fact that she, evidently, never actually believe he was real.

She watched him reach the bottom of the steps and notice her through the glass. He smiled his 'Hello, I'm Prince Rupert' smile she'd seen hundreds of times on TV and in the papers and thought, _'This… is the single weirdest moment of my life'._

The door opened and Rupert greeted her enthusiastically, "Miss Tate." He smoothly walked over to her, smile in place and hand extended, "I can't tell you how happy I am you're here."

She knew she was staring at him but couldn't help it. He looked just like his pictures. Maybe a little thinner. She said nothing as she robotically offered her hand, and he said nothing as he took it, the smile never leaving his face. The silence leisurely unwound between them as she dumbly gawked at him when it eventually dawned on her that he seemed to be….waiting for…something…

Under penalty of torture she was never, ever going to tell her mother that she'd forgotten to curtsey to the Prince. When she inevitably asked, Natalie would assure her mother that, yes, her curtsey was respectful and deep. She'd even be able to show her mother proof by way of a deep tissue bruise, if the thumping she felt when her knee hit floor was any indication.

Her mortification sobered her up more than anything probably could have and she sighed with a smile, "I beg your pardon, Your Highness."

Rupert shook his head with a warm grin, "Think nothing of it. The palace can be a bit overwhelming the first time you're here. I'm sure I felt the same way when I arrived."

She chuckled through her general embarrassment, literally at a loss as to what to say next. Thankfully the man was a professional small talker and he smoothly filled in the empty spaces. "Clarisse should be here shortly. She's taking an impromptu walk around the grounds with my mother."

Natalie nodded with a slight raise of her eyebrows. She managed to burble, "Oh, how nice."

Somehow she knew that was not the right response but at that particular moment she spied movement out in the garden. Interrupting mid-word whatever it was that Rupert was saying, she blurted, "There she is!"

Sure enough, Clarisse was walking up the path with the Queen. The absurdity of her morning becoming only more profound for Natalie with this latest sighting…not so much because Clarisse was talking to Her Majesty, but because whenever Natalie thought of the Queen, she pictured her with a crown on her head. Such was not the case at the moment, of course, and it only reinforced Nat's suspicion that she must actually be at home, in bed, dreaming all of this.

Rupert looked toward the garden, "Ah, good." As they both watched the Queen give Clarisse a hug and take her leave, Natalie heard Rupert mumble to himself the very words that were going through her own head at the moment, "Oh, thank heavens." Natalie didn't think she'd ever be able to act like a normal person if forced to deal with the Queen's sudden…realness.

Clarisse smiled a wide smile when she saw the two of them standing together in the study and enthused as she walked in the door, "Natalie, I'm so glad you're here!"

As she ran up and gave Natalie a warm hug, Rupert smiled at the sight, "You're timing is perfect, dear-heart. I just got here myself."

"Oh, good." She gave Natalie one last squeeze before turning to greet Rupert with a hug and kiss on the cheek. "I thought I was going to be late getting here."

He smirked as he returned her embrace, "Yes, I heard you were waylaid."

She smiled and whispered, "You heard correctly, but we'll talk about that later."

"Well, the important thing is that you've made it." Rupert smiled turning toward Natalie, his hand draped loosely on Clarisse's hip, "I think Miss Tate was afraid she was going to be subjected to lunch with me alone."

Natalie 'pfft-ed' in response as if that was the furthest thought from her mind, but again failed to think of even one slightly clever thing to say. Somehow the presence of Clarisse on the scene didn't dispel any of the strangeness, but only made things more surreal. Nat had seen Clarisse on the arm of one suitor or another over the years, but certainly nothing to prepare her for the picture before her now…standing side by side with Prince Rupert, as if born to occupy that very spot. Astounding.

A puzzled smile crossed Clarisse's face as she looked at her dearest friend. Rupert was chatting lightly about it being a lovely day for a tour of the gardens, if Natalie was so inclined, and Nat was regarding him …utterly gob-smacked.

Clarisse was mildly surprised, and very amused, to discover that the eternally easy-going Natalie appeared to be star struck by the one man that Clarisse found so easy to be around.

When Rupert asked Natalie if she would, in fact, enjoy a walk through the gardens – with a stop off at the tennis courts to meet Prince Etienne and Duchess Sara – Clarisse almost laughed out loud. Natalie was smiling and nodding gamely but her eyes had the vague look of someone who didn't speak a word of English.

When Rupert excused himself to arrange lunch for five to be served courtside in an hour, Clarisse barely waited for the door to close behind him before demanding with a barely contained laugh, "Alright, Natalie…what was that all about?"

Natalie didn't even try to pretend not to know what Clarisse meant and exhaled deeply, "Oh, Clarisse, thank God you're here!"

Clarisse laughed in surprise, "For heaven's sake what's the matter with you?"

Natalie look completely baffled, "Honestly, I don't even know! Ugh, Clarisse…I'm mortified."

Clarisse did laugh out loud at that point. To her credit so did Natalie, though she was still at a loss as she tried to explain, "I just couldn't believe it was him! Which sounds so stupid, I know, but honestly, the minute he walked down the stairs, Clarisse…I fell through the looking glass, is all I can say." She shook her head, "It was so odd….like actually running into Santa Clause on Christmas Eve, you know?"

Clarisse marveled with a soft chuckle, "I'm so surprised at you."

"So am I." She leaned, her hand on Clarisse arm, and confessed without shame, "I swear, Clarisse, the only thing I was nervous about before I got here was that I'd forget myself and be _too casual_ with him – can you imagine?" She shook her head in slow wonder, "I worried I'd been too comfortable." She raised her eyes to the heavens with a sigh tinged with both disgust and amusement, "I feel like such an ass."

Clarisse put an arm around Nat and giggled, "No, no. It's fine." She patted Natalie's shoulder comfortingly and added after a moment, "You know who will find this funny, don't you?"

Natalie smirked knowingly, "Yes. Miss Elizabeth will love hearing about this." She chuckled deprecatingly, "I never should have teased her about her nerves. I'm in for it." She joked sarcastically, "If I weren't already down one bridesmaid, I might have to cut her from the lineup."

Some of the humor drained from Clarisse's face at the tacit mention of Vanessa and everything that her name conjured. She asked in her most even, uncontroversial voice, "So then you've decided to leave her out of the wedding? I don't envy you that awkward conversation."

Natalie laughed with some bitterness, "Well, actually, we've already had that awkward conversation."

Clarisse raised her eyebrows in question, and Vanessa clarified with a sigh, "She called me a few days after our group row in the bridal shop."

Clarisse smiled sadly at the memory and Natalie nodded quietly, "Apparently, she's made arrangements to take a research position at Kingston."

Clarisse frowned, "The University? Wouldn't that mean her position would start at the beginning of the school year – in September?"

Natalie touched her finger to her nose with a wink, "Smart as a whip, you. Seems Vanessa beat me to the punch and let _herself_ out of my wedding." She smiled at Clarisse without much humor before continuing wistfully, "Said it was for the best, which is true. We actually had a rather nice conversation, if you can believe it. She apologized for her 'funk' as she called it; hoped we'd stay friends even though things are changing, blah, blah, blah. She did promise she'd try to come to the wedding, which I said I would like."

Clarisse smiled politely but said nothing. Natalie inhaled with self-conscious briskness, "Believe it or not, she asked me to tell you that she wished you luck." At the disbelieving arch of Clarisse's eyebrow, Natalie laughed, "Now, I don't know if she said it for my benefit or if she actually meant it but…take it for what it's worth."

Clarisse considered that for a moment before relenting, "Well, I suppose I can take her good wishes at face value. Who knows? Maybe when the dust settles we'll all still be friends. Maybe not in the same way, but…" Clarisse shook her head sadly, "I'd hate to think we'd never be able to be friendly again. We four had so much fun together."

"We did. I think that crossed Vanessa's mind, too. We just have to be patient, let things grow into what they will."

Clarisse nodded in agreement and offered, a bit lamely, "I'm sure everything will work out."

Nat murmured quietly after a moment, "I asked Gilly to step in; be my fifth bridesmaid."

"Oh, that's wonderful! Gilly will make things that much more fun. She must be terribly excited."

"She is; didn't seem put out in the least that I asked her so late, as a fill in."

Clarisse shook her head, "No. That's not Gilly's style; she just loves a gathering."

Natalie laughed, "That's what she said."

Clarisse offered softly, "Well…if you speak to Vanessa again, please tell her I wish her well and hope she's happy."

Natalie smiled but said nothing as a bittersweet silence filled the room. For a moment they each looked back over their shared past, marveling how quickly things had become almost unrecognizable from the comfortable and unchanging day to day that had filled their years in school. The change for Clarisse had been sudden and obvious and right at the front of her mind ever since it happened, but for Natalie the permanent changes dawned on her in drips and drabs, and, in a way, made it all the more jarring when she realized that the life she used to live was over…and she almost hadn't seen it end.

TBC


	35. United in Battle

Well, here we are, on the cusp of this story's _**third **_birthday (yow) and including this chapter, I think we've covered about four months of Clarisse's life. There oughtta be a law.

Yet, I do have an update.

This one illustrates just another moment that brings Clarisse and Rupert closer together. It may seem slightly anticlimactic and even unnecessary, but it was one of a handful of 'scenes' that seemed to unspool effortlessly in my head before I started writing. Those scenes are the inspiration and framework for the entire story (their first meeting, the proposal and the wedding day are among them). Even after all this time, I still wanted this scene in the story. (I'm stubborn that way.)

My writing muscles seem to be coming out of atrophy, but I'm loathe to make promises on the timing of an update…hang in there if you have the stamina!

Thanks so much for reading.

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35

July 26, 1960

Clarisse hustled to finish her makeup. Not very surprisingly, they were running late; even less surprisingly was that it was because of her. She and Rupert were off to Natalie's pre-wedding-bridal-party-dinner-get-together-soiree. Rupert didn't know it, and would be mortified if he did find out, but this dinner had actually come to pass because of him. Once everyone in the bridal party realized there was a royal connection to the wedding they all wanted to...well, they wanted to 'hang out' with the Prince. A bridal shower being an all girl affair and the bachelor party reserved for the groomsmen and close friends of the groom, however, Rupert qualified for neither guest list. Stumped as to how to meet him before the big day, bridesmaids and groomsmen alike approached Nat and Colin in hopes of convincing them to have a dinner party or something of the like that would facilitate mingling with the Prince. Nat and Colin being accommodating people by nature, and wanting to get to know Rupert better themselves, agreed to scrap the traditional shower and guys night in favor of a casual cocktail party. When asked about it, Clarisse said she thought it fine …as long as Rupert didn't know the behind the scenes maneuverings. If he thought for a moment that his presence had altered any of Nat's original plans for her wedding, he would be terribly embarrassed.

And, she thought as she powdered her face, undoubtedly bemused to find that he got more thought and consideration in the planning of someone else's wedding than he was getting in the planning of his _own_.

Clarisse eyed Rupert in the mirror as she finished up and shook her head slowly. They were breaking about six different palace-issued rules with him being in her suite alone with her, unchaperoned; if anyone who mattered saw him lazily sprawled across her divan, his tie hanging loosely around his neck and a sherry in his hands…

He caught her looking at him and winked at her but said nothing as he patiently waited for her to finish getting ready. She chuckled sheepishly, "I'll just be another minute. Promise."

He stretched his legs out further and got even more comfortable, "Take your time. I'm enjoying watching your beauty ritual." He gave a low chortle, "I should have come earlier to watch your 'dressing' ritual."

She shook her head incredulously, "The things you say, Rupert. And in my room – alone – no less. I shudder to think of the trouble we would have if the powers that be knew you were here."

He rolled his eyes and fetched a defeated sigh at the tacit mention of the Queen, "Oh, I already have so many black marks against me as far as my mother is concerned…She can only hang me once; I figure I might as well go ahead break the rules that offer me some fun."

She nodded absently, noting his tone. Just as she'd thought, the recent tensions between himself and his mother were weighing on him. She fretted, once again at a loss as to what she could do to help.

Ever since the engagement announcement, relations between Rupert and his mother had deteriorated to the point that, right now, they simply weren't speaking to one another. From what Clarisse could gather, this confrontation had been building for some time; since the 'bride search' began, in fact. Clarisse didn't know any of the details of that particular time, but she suspected that whatever other tilts the two of them may have had, chief among them was when it came to Rupert choosing either Vanessa or herself. It wasn't hard to picture the Queen coming down on Vanessa's side and, consequently she and Rupert fighting fiercely over it. Rupert would never, ever confirm such a thing, even if Clarisse asked him directly, so she was merely guessing. Still, it felt like a...sound assumption.

Her own relationship with the Queen had thawed and stabilized of late, but apparently the bitterness over being disregarded by Rupert in such a way had cut Her Majesty to the quick and left her itching for a fight. Katherine had been thwarted once again by Rupert when – with the support of the King – he'd decided that Clarisse would, in fact, move into the palace now that they were engaged. That evidently signaled the end of Katherine's patience and she decided that when it came to the of planning the actual wedding she was _going_ to get her way.

The reality, of course, was that this particular wedding had been planned down to the smallest detail from the moment Rupert was born, the only major detail remaining open being the actual date it would occur. Once that last wrinkle was ironed out, the palace was ready to implement Operation 'Royal Wedding' at a moment's notice…and Clarisse hoped that wasn't just an empty boast on behalf of the admittedly hyper-capable palace staff. What seemed a laughably easy task for two well-educated, relatively easy-going individuals such as Rupert and herself had become a logistical nightmare of epic proportions, due mainly to the fact that, like every other decision concerning their personal life, this one was being made by committee; a committee headed up, not very surprisingly, by Her Majesty.

As everyone had been told almost hourly since the engagement, every royal couple – ruling or otherwise – had been married during the months of June, July and or August. Clarisse and Rupert's engagement not having been announced until late June, however, the prospect of a summer wedding was doubtful to say the least. Undaunted, however, Katherine steamed ahead bound and determined that Clarisse and Rupert would maintain the tradition.

Clarisse was with Rupert in his office when word trickled down to them, in the form of a draft announcement from Marcel to the press, that the palace was set to announce the 27th of August – the final Saturday in the safe-zone of the calendar – as their official wedding date. When Rupert read the note out loud, she herself was not really surprised at the date chosen; she'd already resigned herself to losing roughly five pounds of humidity induced water weight under the tonnage of lace and pearls that would no doubt make up her wedding gown. What did surprise her was Rupert's immediate and testy reaction.

From the beginning, Clarisse and Rupert seemed to be included in the discussion of what day they were to be married as a polite formality; almost as if someone in protocol reminded everyone that it would be slightly rude to exclude them completely. Notwithstanding, Rupert did make clear one thing: he did not like the idea of getting married in the throes of August. He never liked the heat; he didn't like it when all he was wearing was a bathing suit and sunglasses, much less when decked head to toe in full military regalia as he would be for his wedding – and August was the absolute dog-days for Genovia.

He'd attempted a compromise by agreeing to any Saturday after mid-September, being that the weather would not be quite so sweltering and, as he reasonably pointed out, it would still be summer. Apparently, Her Majesty considered choosing the last Saturday in August _her_ grand compromise and decreed that the 27th was to be the day, as memorialized in Marcel's press release.

Rupert was having none of it, however. On the bottom of the memo he scribbled a terse note rejecting the day, clarifying that he did not intend September to be a 'suggestion' but a hard and fast guideline; so as to be perfectly clear, he wrote that no date before September 17th would be approved by him or his bride.

The inevitable, and equally temperamental, response came from the Queen herself no more than an hour later, and so began a war of memoranda that lasted the rest of that afternoon and far into the next day. Rupert simply wouldn't budge and the Queen, no matter how frustrated, didn't dare make the announcement without his approval, so they simply battled to a stalemate.

Clarisse and Henri – not to mention everyone else – had stayed out of the fray initially, but after almost a week of no movement from either side, things were reaching critical mass. Time was ticking the summer away and if even the contentious August 27th date was to be feasible, the palace would need to mobilize immediately. Clarisse and the King both agreed it was time for cooler heads to prevail and set about talking to their respective counterparts about a truce.

As she sat at her makeup table now, she once again mulled over how to approach what was a very touchy subject with Rupert. He hadn't really addressed it with her beyond the initial 'Can you believe she ignored my specific request' tirade after he sent off his first fiery missive. She'd assumed he would bring the subject up with her and they would discuss it in detail once he'd calmed down, but that had yet to happen.

Just when she thought there was no gentle way to ease them into the subject and she'd just have to ask him outright and weather whatever his temper threw at her, Rupert asked her a not very idle question.

He mused, "How many people are attending Natalie's wedding?"

She thought for a moment, "Oh…I think her final count was roughly…200, 215. Something along those lines."

He nodded wistfully, "That's the size wedding I would like to have."

She laughed, "Hmmm, keep wishing, darling. I think for our wedding, members of the press number more than 200."

He smirked with resignation, "Oh, believe me, I know the difference between what I _want_ to have and what I'm _allowed_ to have."

That was the opening she was looking for. She turned in her chair and looked at him sympathetically for a moment. She tilted her head gently, "And what else is it you would you like to have that someone is saying you can't?"

He looked over at her and for a moment she didn't think he would take up her gauntlet, but a weary grin graced his face as he nodded, "We should talk about the wedding date."

She shrugged delicately, "Well,…it does seem you're putting up quite a fight over it, more than just over the principle that your mother ignored your request." She paused for a moment and smiled slightly, "Do you _have_ a preference? For when we marry?"

He inhaled deeply and admitted, "Well,…if I had my druthers, which of course I don't…but if I did…" He looked into her face and admitted simply, "I'd get married in the winter." He shrugged, as if needing to explain further, "I like the wintertime."

She took a moment to absorb that and he swung his feet off the divan and rested his elbows on his knees, speaking quickly to fill the silence as if he thought he knew exactly what she was thinking, "I'm sure that you would probably prefer a summer wedding, what with your love of flowers. Believe me, I've thought about that…and certainly in the summer, there are heaps of flowers of all different colors and varieties in bloom." He smiled, "You could have your pick of whatever your heart desired, really." He graciously, if a bit sadly, conceded, "It would undoubtedly be a beautiful wedding; an August wedding. "

She smiled at his thoughtfulness…and paused at his sadness. Truth be told, he was right; she'd always envisioned herself being married in the warm weather when she could be outside in the lush green, surrounded by scads and scads of flowers. Clearly, however, he had no such picture in mind when thinking of his own wedding day. Frankly, she'd never even given it a thought that he'd care one way or the other. That seemed more than a bit selfish; not to mention chauvinistic, she was surprised to find.

She ventured with cautious curiosity, "When in the wintertime? Do you have a date in mind?"

A small smile of surprise and what looked like hope crossed his face at her question. After a moment, he shrugged self-consciously as he came to lean forward toward her, "Well, actually…I like December."

She offered a smile, "How festive."

Her indulgence seemed to give him confidence in voicing the final piece of what he clearly thought she would think was a hair-brained idea, "The 24th falls on a Saturday this year."

She blinked at him and asked in slow wonder, "Christmas Eve? You want to get married on Christmas Eve?"

He spoke quickly, as if trying not to let embarrassment get the better of him, "Well, it doesn't _have_ to be Christmas Eve, Clarisse. The 3rd, 10th the 17th…they're all Saturdays as well."

She almost laughed, mostly at how sheepishly he admitted the relatively mild rebellion of wanting to marry during the holidays, but also at picturing the look on the Queen's face when confronted with the idea of a Christmas nuptials – the virtual opposite of the wedding she was insisting on. Clarisse did not laugh, though; out of respect for Rupert's feelings, yes, but also because she was suddenly and genuinely…intrigued.

She cocked her eyebrow at him, "The 31st is also a Saturday, then."

It was his turn to look surprised, "_New Years_ Eve? Talk about festive."

She swirled the notion around for time, aware that Rupert was watching her, seeming to wait for her. Almost to herself she contemplated, "A holiday wedding."

Rupert murmured with a blasé shake of his head, but his gaze still keenly on her face, "It's just a thought."

She turned slowly back to her mirror, "It has possibilities." She absently dabbed her lipstick with tissue and turned her dilemma over in her mind.

Her choice was clear, really: Either throw her lot in with the man who was to be her husband and let chaos and anarchy rule the day, or…make things easier for the entire family by keeping the Queen happy; just opt for the August wedding and all would be peace. The King, from a marital accord standpoint, not to mention Marcel and the Security Department from PR and logistical points of view would all be very content with a summer wedding. Certainly the Genovian people would rejoice at a wedding happening sooner than later. She herself leaned toward a warm weather wedding…the only person who would be disappointed would be Rupert, and even he seemed willing to concede to will of the majority.

If she asked.

For that was what this whole discussion was about…whether _she_ thought he should lay down his sword. Clarisse knew he would do it. He would drop the whole issue with the Queen if Clarisse even hinted at having her heart set on a summer wedding. He would wilt and swelter away in his uniform on their wedding day and dutifully celebrate each and every August 27th they shared together as husband and wife. He would give her everything that she wanted, she need only ask.

Some brides she knew not only desire that kind of acquiescence, but _required_ it of their grooms. Yet, somehow his willingness to defer to her didn't make her happy. This issue clearly was important to him. It was, after all, the only thing about the wedding that'd he'd expressed any preference for; the only time he'd asked anyone to consider his wishes. She didn't know why of all things, beyond his penchant for the colder weather, the date of their marriage was the one thing he was willing to dig his heels in for, but frankly the reason why didn't matter. What mattered was that it mattered to him. To put it simply, Clarisse wanted him to have what made him happy. But beyond even that...frankly, it angered her that his mother was content to deny him that.

She exhaled slowly, "You know what I think of when I think of a winter wedding?"

He chuckled as he stood up and began to tie his tie, "What's that?"

She paused a moment and turned to face him, "Roses."

He raised his eyebrows slightly and she smiled at him, "Red roses." A picture was forming in her mind, "Some white roses mixed in here and there; but definitely…red." She smiled more broadly, "Tons and tons of deep red roses."

He chortled quietly, charmed by her, "Tons?"

She pointed out, "It's true that I do love 'heaps' of other flowers, …roses _are_ my favorite." She enthused conspiratorially, "Just picture the church, Rupert; the carriage, the palace…all covered with red and white roses."

He grinned cautiously as he walked to where she sat, "It sounds stunning."

She grinned up at him, "It does, doesn't it?" She turned back to her, mirror absently gathering her things, and shook her head with mock regret, "You know, that many roses…it just wouldn't do for a summer wedding."

He leaned down beside her, his hands on her shoulders and looked at her reflection, "No?"

"Nooo…too heavy; much too heavy for summer. With my heart set on that many roses…" She mused fatalistically, as if the decision was out of her hands, "we would almost _have_ to get married in the winter."

He paused, wondering if she had really just agreed to his plan. The smile on her face told him she had and he couldn't keep the happiness from showing, "Oh, for the future Queen of Genovia…I definitely think I could arrange 'tons and ton's of red roses."

At her sweet smile and gentle nod, he kissed her cheek, "Thank you , Clarisse."

"Your welcome, Rupert." She sighed as he gently let his hands slide down her arms and his lips wander down to her neck. She consoled herself with the thought that the battle she and Rupert were about to join with the Queen over the wedding date would be a piece of cake, relatively speaking. It would be nothing to the carnage they would face if Her Majesty knew precisely what Rupert was doing right at that moment.

-----

_July 29, 1960_

_The Genovian Court has announced today that the royal wedding between Crown Prince Rupert and Lady Clarisse Renaldi will take place on Saturday 17 December 1960 at The Cathedral of St. Gerard, in Pyrus. _

_The couple plan to postpone their honeymoon until after the first of year so as to celebrate their first Christmas as husband and wife here at home in Genovia. _

_As the press release points out, Crown Prince Rupert and Lady Clarisse are breaking with tradition within the Renaldi family by eschewing a summer wedding and getting married in the heart of the winter. Virtually all members of the Renaldi family have gotten married during the summer months, the most recent of which was Prince Etienne and Duchess Sara who celebrated their third anniversary this past 13__th__ of June. Their Majesties will be celebrating their 34__th__ anniversary on the 8__th__ of August._

_Palace Press Secretary, Marcel Royer, reports that both the Renaldis and the Mignionettes are 'overjoyed' that the date has been set and are 'terribly excited' at the prospect of a wedding during that most festive time of year._

_The planning of the wedding will proceed under the auspices of the head of His Majesty The King's Protocol Staff, with General Major Lucinda Geller as wedding coordinator_

----TBC


End file.
